Rivendell 9 to 5
by Claudi007
Summary: Elladan accepts his destiny as the Worst Elven Leader in the History of Elven Leaders. Sequel to The Elladan Show. Incomplete, but further chapters exist on the Henneth Annun archive.
1. Chapter 1

September 28th

At 10 this morning, Elrohir and I drove dad and Erestor to the airport. Much awkwardness ensued. Nobody really knew what to say. As we stood in the boarding pass queue, dad went over for the hundredth time how the thermostat worked. I didn't really pay attention. I figure that if it breaks, I'll ring somebody to fix it, and that's good enough. Erestor warned Elrohir for the hundredth time not to mess with the fridge settings, because the fridge is very temperamental. Elrohir promised that he wouldn't, but I knew that as soon as we got home he'd start poking around at it, because Elrohir is just like that.

Erestor went through security first, had his nail file confiscated, and disappeared down a corridor. Dad hugged Elrohir and me goodbye, reminded us that the car needs an oil change, and followed Erestor. There is a very real possibility that I will never see dad again, and my final mental image was about to be him bending down to hike up his socks. But then he remembered that he still had the car keys in his pocket, and came racing back out to toss them to me from across the security checkpoint. So now my final mental image of dad will be him with a panicked look on his face, tossing me the keys to the Mazda over a Plexiglas wall.

Just to be sure they hadn't forgotten anything, Elrohir and I waited around in the airport for an hour until the plane took off. He wanted to buy a plastic model airplane from one of the souvenir shops, but as I am now the responsible adult, it was my duty to stop him. I let him buy an airplane-shaped chocolate instead. Then we headed out to dad's car, which is now my car, and drove back to dad's house, which is now my house. Just because we could, we stopped and picked up pizza for dinner on the way home.

This is every Elf's dream come true. My parents and all parentalesque cohabiting adults have finally moved to Valinor. I am not sure what they plan to do in Valinor, but at least they're gone. Erestor once said something about working at a golf course. That sounds about right for them. Anything that involves bad fashion and discount golf should make them happy.

Elrohir and I spent the afternoon being lazy and enjoying our freedom. I didn't bother going in to work. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be doing at work most of the time, so chances are I didn't miss anything and nobody missed me. Instead of work, I sat on a raft that Elrohir made out of pool noodles and floated around the deep end with a glass of lemonade. Erestor never let us make pool noodle rafts, as he didn't approve of using string in conjunction with pool toys, and dad always forbade the use of glass dishes outdoors and especially forbade the drinking of beverages in the pool. But seeing as they were in a plane somewhere above the Shire, there was nobody to stop me. Elrohir put one of the vinyl deck chairs in the shallow end. When he sat down, he was at exactly the right height so that only his head was above water.

We were both too lazy to cook supper, so we had pita bread and ice cream bars. Dad and Erestor rang from the Grey Havens to let us know the flight went well. They'll ring again from Eldos tomorrow. After I assured dad that everything was fine around the house, he asked to speak to Elrohir. I told him Elrohir was in the bath. That was a lie, as Elrohir was actually just downstairs getting another box of ice cream bars from the deep freeze, but I didn't want to give dad the opportunity to find out about our pool foolery. Elrohir's big mouth could always cause dad to change his mind and hop on the first flight back home.

After dad disconnected, I came to settle down for the night in his room, which is now my room. It looks pretty empty. I suppose I never really noticed how big this room is, since it's always been filled with random things and out of date furniture. I may have to stay home from work tomorrow, too, just to get everything sorted out in here.

September 29th

Rang Lindir at the office this morning to tell him I wasn't coming in. I gave a vague excuse, like I needed some time off to look after some things now that dad's gone. He said he understood completely, and told me not to bother coming in for the rest of the week. I was happy when he said that, but now that I think it over, he may have been insulting me. Did he mean he understood completely that I was just skiving off work for no good reason? And did he tell me not to bother coming in because he knows I'm useless? I would consider going in to work just to try to find out, but I don't think I'm that dedicated. I'd rather stay home and dink around with household organisation.

The first task was to move all of my stuff from my old room into my new room. My new room is much larger than my old room, so now I should be able to display my stuff in a less cluttered way. I'll need to get some new furniture first, though. Half of the stuff in here is hideous, and the rest dad wants me to ship to Tol Eressëa for him. I might take Elrohir to Ikea some day soon. I still have that gift certificate Arwen gave me. But for now, the charming décor of boxes full of stuff I'm not even sure is really mine will have to do.

The second task was to get rid of all of dad's remaining stuff. The back of his closet is full of boxes that he didn't have time to sort through before he left. He gave us instructions to give away anything we don't think he'll need, and to ship him the rest. I went through most of the boxes with Elrohir, and we're pretty sure he won't need any of it. We found a veritable goldmine of useless crap, and made up a song about it. It went something like:

On the twelfth day of moving, the closet gave to me:  
Twelve ancient road maps,  
Eleven dusty records,  
Ten pairs of dress shoes,  
Nine macramé books,  
Eight expired passports  
Seven bags of clothing  
Six creepy spiders  
FIIIIIIIIIIIVE O-OOOOOOLD LAAAAAAAMPS!  
Four 8-track tapes  
Three broken stools  
Two half-knit sweaters  
And a box full of bells shaped like Elves!

Apart from these treasures, we also found some things that were just plain bizarre, like a single water buffalo horn wrapped in twine, a framed caricature of Gil-galad boxing with an alligator, a four-foot-long stuffed and mounted fish, a mandolin missing half its strings, and the biggest bright orange sheepskin I've ever seen in my life. To me, this stuff just screams "garage sale". But when dad rang from Eldos (sounding very tired), he whined that many of those old things had sentimental value. He wants me to ship him the mandolin and the picture of Gil-galad. Also the box of bells shaped like Elves. That's Erestor's prized collection. I should have known.

But I think I'm going to sell the rest of the stuff. I'll get Elrohir to help me go through all the boxes in the basement tomorrow to find more for our sale.

October 1st

The garage sale will be next weekend. We have far more stuff than anticipated. Elrohir and I spent all of yesterday and most of today going through the basement boxes, and we're still not done. But on the plus side, at least most of it is going in the "sell pile". Actually it's more of a "large sell area that takes up a good portion of the basement floor". I don't think it's going to fit into the garage. We might end up having a driveway sale instead.

Tomorrow I think we might have to go through the sell pile and sort it further into "sell" and "chuck". Because really, the more I think about it, nobody's going to want an 8-track player without a power cord, or a broken Fiommereth tree stand.

October 3rd

I went to work today. Nothing important had happened in my absence, so I had nothing to do. Now I know for sure I am the most incompetent leader in the history of Elvish leaders. I know people always accuse politicians of not knowing what they're doing, but I really don't know what I'm doing. I think it may have been a mistake for dad to appoint me as his successor.

This term so far has been a political gong show. The only thing I have accomplished as Beloved Leader of Rivendell is to pass a bylaw prohibiting the use of all gas-powered or electric lawn mowers, weed trimmers and other loud gardening gadgets between the hours of 10 pm and 9 am. It happened completely by accident one day in August when dad didn't bother coming to work and put me in charge. All I did was obliviously sign a bunch of papers, and the next thing I knew Lindir was congratulating me on finally standing up to inconsiderate lawn-care fanatics. I think he was the one who proposed the bylaw in the first place. One of the residents on his street is an insomniac who runs a landscaping business.

Since I didn't know what else to do today, I spent some time on the telephone with various other world leaders. That's what politicians do in movies. Though I suppose in movies they're discussing urgent national security threats or something. I was just having casual conversations with Aragorn, grandpa, and Thranduil. Aragorn told me that Arwen is trying to get pregnant and he is trying to not get Arwen pregnant, which was a bit too much information. Grandpa told me about all the new old timer clubs he might join now that grandma's moved to Tirion and he has free time to fill. Thranduil asked if I'd seen Legolas, who I guess is missing again.

The conversations took me up until lunch time. After lunch, I had to find something else to do, so I made various appointments to get things around the house ready for winter. The furnace and water heater inspector is coming on Thursday, the pool draining team on Saturday, and a landscaping consultant next Monday. I'm not really sure if I needed the landscaping consultant, but I was bored and the company had a catchy banner in the phone directory.

When I got home, Elrohir had made breakfast sausages and pancakes for supper. Then we went to go sit in the pool, even though it was ridiculously cold outside, just because we only have a few days of pool time left.

October 6th

I think today just might have been the worst day ever.

It started at breakfast. Elrohir was sitting across the table from me, annoyed that I'd gotten him out of bed so early, even though I clearly explained that he had to be awake when the furnace inspector showed up. He made a big show of yawning loudly to prove how tired he was, then somehow managed to sprain his jaw yawning and sneezing at the same time. I had to take him to the emergency room and wait around until he was assessed by a doctor (who did nothing but tell him to take some Advil for the pain) then drive him home. I was three hours late for work. And when I got in, there was an irate message on my voice mail from the furnace inspector, complaining that there was nobody home when I had clearly promised him that somebody would be. Now I'm going to be on the furnace inspection blacklist, and will probably die of carbon monoxide poisoning from faulty furnace ducts!

I decided to take two bowls of soup from the office dinner buffet since I had missed breakfast due to Elrohir's stupid jaw. I'm not sure how, but this caused a problem with the computerised dinner card system. Apparently my dinner card only allows me one bowl of soup or vegetable tray per day, one sandwich or hot entrée, one salad, one bun, one beverage, and one dessert. Swapping my dessert option for a second soup bowl is not allowed. But I was also not allowed to put the soup back, because I had already salt and peppered it. The dumbfounded cafeteria cashier had no idea what to do. He had to call for the cafeteria manager. The manager clearly stated the rules, only one bowl of soup per employee per day, and returning food to the buffet once it has been placed on a tray is not allowed, but he did not say what I should do. By this time, everyone in the queue behind me was glaring and shuffling restlessly.

The manager made me stand to the side until a solution could be reached. None of the kitchen staff had any ideas. I loudly suggested that since I am the head of the entire government I should be allowed two bowls of soup without all this hassle, but as usual nobody listened to me. Nobody ever listens to me! I had to wait until Lindir came down for dinner. I gave him my second soup bowl, and went off to sit in a corner and angrily eat dinner by myself. It didn't work. Lindir came and sat down across from me and spent the next half hour discussing civil servant salary increase percentages over the past century.

Some time over the dinner hour my watch battery must have died, because I was twenty minutes late getting back to my office, and therefore twenty minutes late getting to my meeting. The meeting was to discuss employee dinner card policy. Everyone in the room took my tardiness as a sign of disinterest in the topic, which was anything but true. As a result, nobody paid attention to my passionate plea that dinner cards come pre-loaded for a certain cash value, not item quantity, so that employees could choose to have two bowls of soup and no dessert if that's what they want. I could have cried when the vote passed to make no changes to the dinner card workings.

I left work right after the meeting was over. I couldn't handle it any more. Also, I needed to stop by the mall and get a new battery for my watch. I walked all the way into the department store jewellery counter, only to discover I'd left my watch in my coat pocket, which was in the car. I walked all the way back out to the car, only to discover that I'd locked the door and left the keys in the ignition. Almost cried again. At least I had my wallet in my trouser pocket. I walked back into the store and just bought a new watch. Then had to go to an ATM to withdraw $20, then had to go to a bank branch to get the $20 made into change for the bus. Took the bus to the tram station, and took the tram home. Only the tram stop nearest home was closed for construction, so I had to go all the way to the zoo and then walk all the way back, up the big hill. Meanwhile, I discovered that the strap on my new watch is faulty. And I can't return it because I cleverly left the bag with the receipt on the jewellery counter.

At this point I was just too tired and frazzled to go back to the mall and fetch the car. So I sent Elrohir in a cab with the spare keys. He just got back fifteen minutes ago. The car is covered in mud and has a rubber cactus on the radio antenna. I didn't ask.

I am seriously thinking of going to bed right now and not getting up for a week.

October 8th

No yard sale today either. I'm not sure where it all comes from, but the basement is full of things. Rollerblades that used to belong to Arwen. Chess boards with no chess pieces. Records that run at 78 rpm. A shuffleboard table. Rolls of old shag carpet. Coffee mugs that say things like "Sportek Yoga Retreat 2762". And then all the photo albums. It feels wrong to just chuck out all those pictures, but what else am I supposed to do with them? There are almost two hundred photo albums in boxes down there. Most of them are from the Second and early Third Age, since mum and dad sort of stopped taking pictures sometime around Arwen's high school graduation (I think that's when their camera broke, and they never bothered to get another one).

Some of the photos are good for a laugh. There's an entire album full of the wild antics of Lindon. Six whole pages are devoted to one game of Twister. Then there's another album of mum and dad's wedding, and the clothes alone are enough to bring out a few snickers. I still can't believe dad got married in a chocolate brown corduroy suit, and mum in a shiny minidress. No wonder the marriage didn't last.

I think I may take the easy way out and just ship them all to dad. Then the burden of overwhelming photo storage will be on him.

I was really looking forward to a quick swim after toiling all day amid dusty boxes in the basement, but then I remembered that the pool workers were draining the water and winterising the system. So instead I got to sit on a deck chair with a beer and watch them. It wasn't quite as satisfying. The pool men treated me with surly contempt. I think it was because I didn't offer them a beer.

October 9th

Yard sale has been postponed until next summer, due to a freak blizzard and a sudden abundance of snow. So I've given up on the cleaning and sorting for now. All the junk can sit as-is in piles in the basement until June. Nobody really uses the basement anyhow, except to store things that are soon forgotten and never used again.

With no sorting to do, I took Elrohir to Ikea to help me pick out new furniture. This was probably the dumbest mistake ever, because the snowed-in roads were packed with maniac drivers skidding all over the place. It took us almost an hour to get there, after three near misses and almost being run off the bridge by a swerving bus. We had to sit in the Ikea restaurant and have bad Ikea cappuccino to soothe our nerves. Actually, I had to sit in the Ikea restaurant. Elrohir thought the drive over was highly exciting, and couldn't wait to try our luck on the way home.

We walked through the whole store, and Elrohir wanted to buy almost everything we saw. Anything remotely impractical or bizarrely-shaped, he recommended. Yet he turned his nose up at my reasonably stylish selections. I'm sorry, but I just have no use for a plastic chair shaped like a bean or a spherical coffee table. I want a usual-type comfortable padded chair and a usual-type flat-topped coffee table. One that matches my no-nonsense bookcase, dresser, and end tables. Elrohir got angry and said that I never listen to what he says, and that I shouldn't have brought him along if he wasn't needed. I told him he was needed to help me carry the boxes out to the car, but I guess that wasn't what he had in mind.

As a compromise, and to get him to stop making a fuss in the middle of the lighting showroom, I promised he could redecorate the basement all by himself, no questions asked, once the junk was removed. That seemed to make him happy. But just to be sure, I bought him an ice cream cone on our way out.

October 14th

Next time I'll know better, and buy pre-made furniture from a pre-made furniture store. It may be more expensive, but the absence of hassle is worth it. The Ikea pieces are still unassembled, still leaning accusingly against my wall. The vague instructional drawings are no help at all. The diagram shows there are supposed to be holes and pegs, but the pegs just plain don't fit where the holes are. And Elrohir is useless- he keeps putting the bookcase together with shelves upside-down. I was forced to post a notice on the cork board by the drink machine at work: "Will pay $50 to anyone who can successfully assemble Ikea products". I saw some of the interns eyeing it as I left, so with any luck one of them will be a carpentry whiz.

October 15th

A girl named Taleryn is coming by tomorrow to assemble the Ikea furniture. I'm a bit worried about having a girl do it, but she was the only one who rang to offer her services. I hope she knows what she's doing and doesn't just want to try to scam an easy $50.

October 16th

Taleryn called round at four, and by five-thirty I had three fully-assembled pieces of Ikea furniture. And she did it all without power tools. I was duly impressed. I gave her the $50 plus a generous tip. Elrohir invited her to stay for supper. I'm fairly sure this was because she's conventionally cute and wearing a tight shirt, and not, as he claimed, because he'd made too much weird crap for supper and knew I wasn't going to eat it all.

We sat down at the table and he gave us each a plate of some strange-looking brownish goo. I asked what it was. He said, "A delightful blend of potato and turkey, chopped, mashed, smothered in gravy, infused with stuffing, seasoned with salt and pepper, combined with our special top-secret cabbage salad, stirred until smooth, deep fried, drizzled with hot barbeque sauce, and served on a crisp leaf of lettuce for your satisfaction." I still didn't know what it was. And it tasted sort of like charcoal.

Taleryn is coming back tomorrow after work to play Nintendo with Elrohir. Apparently she's really good at City Connection. I wouldn't know. I wasn't allowed in the den with them after supper to witness the high scoring.

October 18th

I hate my job. I hate work in general. I hate being a responsible adult!

Today at work Lindir almost choked to death on a blue whale. Now he's trying to get me to support his ridiculous wish to sue the candy company. I told him that was the dumbest thing I'd ever heard. I mean, I know I've heard far dumber things from Elrohir in the past, but saying "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard" has so much more power than saying, "That's approximately the fifty-sixth dumbest thing I've ever heard." So I exaggerated a bit. Now he's angry at me for disrespecting his dumb lawsuit desires. I'm sorry, but I can't help it. And quite frankly, I'd be embarrassed to get up in front of a judge and tell everyone how I almost died eating a blue whale. That's just silly. Everyone knows blue whales have to be eaten responsibly.

Tomorrow I'm going to the bank to see how much money I have and how long I can survive without a job if I quit this one. I'm sadly guessing not long enough for my liking.

October 19th

Sweet Holy Varda. I never realised how much money government employees make.

I stopped by the bank after work, checked my account balance on the ATM, and almost fainted when I saw the balance. I thought it had to be some sort of crazy error. There was an extra fifty thousand dollars in there!

I rang dad straight away when I got home. I asked him how much money I made in my current job, and he said, "Somewhere in the range of $370 thousand." Hearing that made me drop the phone.

Alright. So, after some careful consideration, maybe I don't hate work so much after all. I mean, they pay me well enough for what I have to endure. For $370 thousand per year, I think I can force myself to put up with an awful lot.

October 22nd

I took Elrohir shopping to help me spend some of my ridiculous salary. I figure it'll be a lot easier to cope with the trials and tribulations of being a world leader if I have the biggest, best television money can buy to come home to and relax in front of after a hard day's work.

We drove up to a high-end electronics store and had the salesman give us his whole pitch and demo. We watched part of a racing movie on the Panasonic 42-inch and part of a cartoon on the Sony 50-inch before the salesman told us that if were REALLY serious about our television use, we'd have to check out the Toshiba 52-inch. He let us sit in the viewing room, and we watched a short documentary about tropical fish, with surround sound.

We ended up going for the 52-inch, wide-screen, flat-panel, wall-mountable, HDTV-ready 52-inch Toshiba plasma television with virtual surround sound, AND an actual surround sound 5-disc DVD home theatre system (with speaker stands), AND the component cables, AND an RCA switch box so Elrohir can hook up all his video game systems at once, AND a four-year extended warranty plan. The whole package cost nearly ten thousand dollars. But since it'll take me less than two weeks of sitting on my arse behind a desk to make that money back, I didn't really care.

I tried to put it all on my Visa, forgetting that my Visa only has a $3000 limit. Felt a bit like a dork when the charge was rejected. Had to use my bank card instead. I think the salesman lost a considerable amount of respect for me. First thing Monday before work, I'm stopping by the bank and applying for one of those platinum Visas like Glorfindel has. The kind with a $50.000 limit.

October 23rd

Spent the day with Elrohir and the new television. We had to take turns on it. First I watched the news, because it was my television, then Elrohir played Grand Theft Auto, then I watched an old movie on cable, then Elrohir beat Chrono Trigger again, then we watched horse jumping live from Gondor.

We both agreed that regular full-screen shows look terrible on a wide-screen television. So now we have to get digital cable, and those expensive wide-screen and HDTV channels, to maximise the viewing experience. I rang the company to order the best package they offer. A cable man is calling round on Friday to install everything.

October 25th

Had a hard time getting out of bed this morning and going to work. It is the fault of the new television. It made me stay up until four-thirty watching game shows. You really get into the game shows when the surround sound makes you feel like part of the studio audience.

I went to the bank at lunch to see about a platinum Visa, and while I was there, I also asked about a car loan. With my newfound financial surplus, I don't much feel like driving dad's old Mazda any more. I need something fancier. Something more like a person who makes $370 thousand per year would drive. Something with heated leather seats and a sun roof. And a personalised license plate.

October 26th

Elrohir and I went looking at cars. Once again, we let the salesman go wild with his pitch of what we should look for and what he thinks we need. According to him, we need a full-size sedan with heated leather seats and a sun roof, along with automatic everything and a computerised navigation system. After test driving it, I'm inclined to agree.

"It" is a big shiny white Ford 500. Elrohir wanted to get something foreign, or something like a movie star would drive, but I'm wise to him. If I get something that he likes, he'll borrow it, get iced tea stains on the upholstery, scratch up the paint, get a dent somewhere, wrap the bumper around a concrete pole, break the radio antenna, and cause the rear-view mirror to fall off. He has already done half these things to the Mazda, and dad's only been gone a month. The Ford 500, though, looks like a car grandpa would buy. So with any luck Elrohir will think it's uncool and refuse to drive it.

It costs almost fifty thousand dollars. I've never spent that much money on anything in my entire life. I almost chickened out and ran back to the safety of the Mazda, but the car salesman already had all the papers ready, and all I needed to do was sign my name and write the date where the little yellow sticky tab pointed...

I still have to go back tomorrow and work out the details, but within 24 hours I should have a new car. One that Glorfindel wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen in.

October 27th

After work I picked up Elrohir, drove to the car lot, and drove away with my new fancy grandpa-type sedan. Now Elrohir can bang up the Mazda all he wants, and cover it with dumb bumper stickers and tacky novelty license plates and frames. As long as he doesn't bang it into my new prize possession, I don't care.

But as I was driving home, I started to notice something peculiar. Everyone around me was driving very carefully. Normally on Memorial Drive, if the posted speed limit is 70, they all go 80 or more. But now it was the safe side of 70 all the way. Nobody cut me off. Nobody honked or gave me the finger. Nobody suddenly slammed on the brakes. All headlights and turning signals were in proper working order. I even saw a woman hastily fasten her seatbelt. I was beginning to think I was in a Twilight Zone episode or something, but then I pulled into the driveway behind Elrohir, and as he got out of the Mazda he said, "Man, I thought you were a ghost car following me!"

So my new car looks like a cop car. It's true. I sat in the Mazda and had a look. Sure enough, if I were driving in front of me, I'd think I was a ghost car too.

Now I have to figure out if this is a good or a bad thing. I mean, it's nice that people suddenly become courteous drivers when I'm around, but on the other hand, I'll probably get annoyed next time I'm late for work and need to push the speed limit.

October 28th

I rang dad tonight to tell him about the new car and television situation. He said it all sounded very nice, but didn't I think I should be a bit less frivolous about my financial situation? I said, "Dad, last week you told me I made $370 thousand a year. I can afford to be frivolous." He replied, "Yes, that's true, but you also need to remember that your income tax will be around 35. Then there's municipal and property taxes, and bills for energy, electricity, water, insurance..."

It was about then that I started to get a horrible feeling in my stomach. I weakly asked, "How much is 35 of $370 thousand?" He hmmed to himself before replying, "Well, last year I think I paid just under $100 thousand in income tax. But then I had deductions for your and Elrohir's tuition, charitable donations, and RRSPs. Without those, it would have been closer to $130."

A HUNDRED AND THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS IN INCOME TAX!

Is this government INSANE! I mean, I know I AM the government, but still! That's ridiculous! And unnecessary! And unexpected! And above all, stupid! Why should I pay myself $370 thousand dollars if I just have to pay $130 thousand of that right back? Wouldn't it make sense to just pay myself less in the first place? I am going to have to see Lindir about this on Monday. He is the only person I know who understands how stuff like this works. Because I sure don't get it.

October 30th

I went to Lindir's Balathin party last night, so I had a chance to talk to him about income tax while he was arranging pumpkin-shaped cheese cut-outs on a tray of melba rounds. He explained to me that income tax was first started in Hithlum by Fingon as a way to finance the Siege of Angband back in the First Age, and it was such a useful way for governments to collect funds that it's been around ever since. And while that was an interesting piece of trivia, it really didn't help with my dilemma. I had to ask him outright how I was expected to scratch up $130 thousand dollars in time for April.

Lindir assured me I wouldn't. Mainly because I would only have three months of my new salary on this tax year. But even next year, a portion of each pay cheque goes to taxes automatically, so the following April I might end up actually having to pay an additional $70 thousand or so. ONLY $70 thousand he said! Alright so that's better than $130, but really...

Still, the talk with Lindir helped me relax a little. And made me realise the great importance of accountants. Now I know why dad likes Erestor so much. I'm starting to miss him myself. At least he probably would have had a decent costume. Taking financial advice from Lindir, dressed as a lawn gnome, was a bit surreal.

The rest of the party was bland but bearable. Watching slightly tipsy co-workers bob for apples was interesting, but not in a makes-me-want-to-join-in kind of way. I mostly stood by the stereo speakers, where the spooky sound effects CD was too loud to permit idle conversation, and drank fruit punch spiked with vodka and gummi spiders. Only a few people talked to me all night. I'm not sure if it was because they were intimidated by my awesomeness and political power or because they didn't get my costume. I was dressed as the four basic food groups. Elrohir helped me make it out of an old duvet cover, construction paper, and clingfilm. I had wanted to be Fingolfin, but I couldn't find the Ringil I made in props class.

When I got home, just before midnight, Elrohir and Taleryn were heading out to a party of their own. Taleryn was wearing a Playboy Bunny costume. She didn't seem embarrassed that I, her boss, saw her in it (climbing into my former car, no less). Elrohir was wearing cowboy boots, ripped jeans, a shiny gold tank top, a knee-length leather jacket with a skull made out of masking tape on the back, a fedora, and an eye patch. I had to ask what he was supposed to be. "A zombie pirate," he answered. I said, "Oh, right," and pretended I knew what he was talking about. To tell the truth, he looked more like a novice trailer park vampire.

They didn't come home until twenty after four. I know this because I was watching Evil Dead 2 on the big plasma screen when they came in and told me to leave because Event Horizon was on channel 46 at four thirty and they wanted to watch it. I had to finish watching Evil Dead 2 on the 13-inch television-video combo in my bedroom. It seemed so small and inadequate in comparison.

October 31st

Today at work there was a costume contest, pot luck snacks in the twelfth floor lunch room, and inter-office trick-or-treating. Of course I knew nothing about any of this, so I showed up in my regular dumb work suit with no snacks and no candy to give out to my co-workers. People should TELL me these things! I obviously missed an important memo, because even the new interns knew what was going on.

After having to turn two devastated city councillors and the Minister of Justice away from my office with no treats, I decided I'd better get with the program. I ran down to Super Drug Mart where I bought a cheap Dwarf costume-in-a-bag (rubber helmet, plastic axe, nylon beard) and two boxes of orange-filled Oreos for the pot luck. They were out of boxed treats, but in that moment I was inspired. I ran all the way to Beer Land on Fourth Avenue and bought as many miniature bottles of Bailey's as the stock room could give me. The spotty desk clerk asked me if maybe a few big bottles wouldn't be a better value, but I explained that the little bottles were for trick-or-treaters. He gave me a frightened look. I almost added, "At the office," but thought better of it. Him thinking I'm giving alcohol to kids is a story to tell his friends, but him knowing I'm actually using it for party-like work purposes might be a story to tell one of those anti-government newspapers. People already think government workers waste enough time and money. I don't need word of this foolery getting out.

Anyway, work was better than usual by virtue of the fact that nobody was working and the whole building was in chaos. The civil servants' union leaders all got together to decorate the Receiver General's office with toilet roll while he was down trick-or-treating in the mail room. As a result, I was afraid to leave my own office, so I collected no candy. But it worked out well, because word of the miniature Bailey's bottles quickly spread, and by noon the line to my office door was backed up as far as the elevators. My supply was depleted within the hour. I made the last few people sing for their alcohol. One of the Junior Ministers knew all the words to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme song; she was wearing a very well-made Shredder costume. I had to borrow Lindir's camera to take a picture, because I knew this was something Elrohir would appreciate.

At three I went down to the lobby for the costume contest (taking care to lock my office door- no toilet roll for me, thanks), wearing my crappy Dwarf outfit. Luckily, most other people were also wearing cheap drug store fare (Nazgûl, Orc, Hobbit, Lothlórien chamber maid, rubber Balrog mask), so I fit in fairly well. Shredder won third prize. One of the janitors, dressed as Duff Man, took second, and first prize went to a group of three secretaries dressed as anime schoolgirls. Personally, I liked Duff Man better, but the judges were all dirty old men who leered openly at the anime girls' prominent boobs, short skirts, and pink wigs.

And that was about all the workish fun and excitement I could handle for one day, so after the costume prizes were awarded I raced home as fast as I could (not that I could go very fast at all with everybody slowing down when they saw my cop-like grandpa sedan) to help Elrohir get the house decorated and the pumpkins carved in time for non-alcoholic trick-or-treaters tonight. Elrohir had stopped by the Safeway and picked up far more candy than we could possibly give out to a thousand or more kids, and two pumpkins. I didn't even try to interfere with his pumpkin artistry. I just hollowed the dumb things out for him. He's not very good at pumpkin hollowing. He always leaves the little stringy bits that catch on fire.

Now our front window has a Balrog pumpkin and a Sauron pumpkin. I hope they work to frighten some of the kids away. I don't really feel like answering the door much. And I'm enjoying the candy too much to want to give it away. I've already finished off seventeen miniature Kit Kats and two handfuls of foil-wrapped chocolate eyeballs. 


	2. Chapter 2

November 1st

Today is the day when all the Fiommereth ornaments magically appear on lamp posts and in department store windows all over the city. I swear, they must hire people to work in a twelve-hour marathon of festivity. Our government building suddenly says "HAPPY HOLIDAYS" in green and red lights on the north side. I have an enormous twinkling P in my office window. Today I didn't mind so much, because I had a bag of leftover candy to distract me, but I know it'll eventually drive me mad. Probably long before the 25th of December.

We only had fifteen trick-or-treaters all of last night, and not an original costume among the lot until a vanload of smart-mouth youths showed up at nine. One of them was dressed as a Tetris block, so I gave him two handfuls of mini bars. This made his friends complain, but as they were wearing nylon witch hats and rubber masks, they got no prize.

I must have eaten twelve mini bags of Cheetos though, because by the end of the night there were only three left out of a box of thirty. Those things go quickly.

November 2nd

Elrohir is not allowed to watch any more scary movies. He had an Event Horizon nightmare, and woke me up at five this morning to tell me he thought he heard intergalactic hell warp noises coming from the furnace room. I punched him in the sternum and told him to go away and dream about something better, like an iguana sanctuary. He came back an hour later in tears, saying he'd had a dream about iguanas being sucked through an intergalactic hell warp. I had to let him sleep in my bed until I got up at seven thirty. Then he sat in the den, protectively clutching his iguana and watching bright, happy toddler cartoons. He is a moron.

November 4th

The P is starting to get annoying. I can hear it buzzing behind me.

I had an email from Glorfindel today, with about fifty pictures of Elairon's first Balathin. He was the only baby in his Mums and Kids playgroup dressed like an orc. All the others were cute things, like kitties and bunnies. Aralindë looked very proud, holding her little orc up for the camera. I noticed she's looking much better now that she's not so skinny and no longer wears tiny shirts and jeans that only cover half her bum.

Elairon's first birthday is coming up in a few weeks. I should probably send a present now, and with any luck it'll get there only two months late.

November 8th

Just after eleven this morning at work, when the twinkling P was annoying me more than usual, I got a collect call. I picked up the phone, and a thickly-accented Gondorian lady on the other end of the line said, "Good morning, sir, would you like to accept a collect call from," then there was a brief pause before a whiny male voice said, "Manwë." Only the way he said it sounded like a question. "Manwë?" I waited until I could hear the Gondorian lady breathing again, and I said, "No, of course not." She said, "Thank you sir, you have a nice day."

Why on earth would I accept a collect call from somebody pretending to be Manwë? That just annoyed me and put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day. But then when I got home, I started to think, what if it really was Manwë on the line? Am I now important enough to warrant a telephone conversation with Manwë? I mean, everyone knows he does talk to Elves sometimes, though usually not through collect telephone conversations.

November 9th

I rang dad and asked if he'd ever talked to Manwë over the telephone. He said, "No, why would I have done that?"

So now I know for certain it wasn't really Manwë on the line yesterday, and I can relax again. If he never talked to dad, he'd certainly never want to talk to me. That's a relief. I had trouble sleeping last night because of the nagging worry that I'd hung up on a Vala.

November 10th

Had another collect call from "Manwë" today. I informed the Gondorian operator that I was very busy with important work and therefore could not accept. Really I was playing spider solitaire at the time and loudly listening to the radio so it would drown out the sound of the P, but she had no way of knowing.

The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced "Manwë" is another word for "Elrohir", or possibly "Orophin".

November 11th

Told Elrohir about the Manwë phone experiences in a vague, roundabout way as we sat around at home and enjoyed the civic holiday. He sounded very impressed that Manwë would bother to contact me. A little TOO impressed, maybe...

November 14th

Got an email today from what I think is Manwë's secretary. Oh crap.

-----  
From: "Ingwë Orozer" ingwe.orozermhn.tn.gov  
Subject: important document for reader

Dear master Elladan Peredhel;

We have tried now twice for speaking with you by  
telephone but are unfortunately with no luck  
here. However we are finding your email address  
from the website of your government. We have hope  
this will not be greatly an inconvenience on you  
but is highly necessary that we are communicate.

It is of recent come by the attention of us that  
your father Elrond Peredhel is left Ennor and come  
for living permanent in Aman when you and your  
siblings remain still there. By decision long ago  
from Manwë was said to your father that he may  
choose being Elf or Mortal for living in Ennor and  
when he choose Elf it is for his children also  
this deciding. When he is now left Ennor for Aman,  
the time for decide is come to you and your  
brother. Your sister we know has been decided for  
choose Mortal after her last year marriage with  
King of Gondor Aragorn Elessar.

When you have convenience for your time please be  
contacting our office and arranging speaking with  
Manwë or Eönwë on this decision making. You and  
your brother will to have until end of this year  
for choose being Elf or Mortal. If any questions,  
we have email or also telephone at this office from  
eight until six.

Please forgive us our mistakes when we write  
Sindarin. It is not usual we are using your  
language.

Ingwë Orozer  
Tecar Máhanwa  
pal: 94-11-255-275  
-----

I'm divided on whether or not I believe this is actually an email from the office of Manwë. It looks official, but then, Elrohir has been known to go way further than one might expect in his pranking. To be safe, I forwarded copies to dad and Glorfindel to ask their opinions before I take action.

Now I just know I'm going to worry about this all night. Great. Stupid Manwë!

November 15th

The first thing in my inbox was an email from dad.

-----  
From: "Elrond Peredhel" Subject: Re: Fwd: important document for reader

I'd say it's legitimate, but why don't you try the  
telephone number and see what happens?

Love, dad  
-----

I should have thought of that on my own. The second email, from Glorfindel, said mainly the same thing but in slightly more detail.

-----  
From: "Finwë Lauron" flauronvalinat.nat  
Subject: Re: Fwd: important document for reader

It looks real to me. The area code on the telephone  
number is from Valmar, so if I were you, I'd try to  
communicate with them via telephone. But get Elrohir  
to do the talking. Nobody in Valmar can speak  
Sindarin, as you probably guessed from the email.

LL  
-----

It seems as if Glorfindel is implying that my Quenya sucks. He's right, but it still annoys me that he has the nerve to say so!

November 16th

Elrohir talked to this Orozer person on the phone. I understood very little of the conversation, but it sounded about as professional as can be expected from Elrohir. When he disconnected, he said, "Okay, Manwë's coming on Saturday so we can do our deciding thing."

I feel ill. Manwë is coming to my house. Manwë! My house! My horrible, messy house with décor left over from the Second Age! A basement full of junk! An uninspected furnace! MANWË! On SATURDAY!

We have some serious cleaning to do.

November 18th

Took yesterday and today off work to make everything nice. Yet nothing looks clean. Actually, the house looks worse than before. And Manwë will be here tomorrow.

The front door frame looks particularly bad, and that's going to be the first thing he sees. People keep leaning against it with their dirty hands and mucking it up. And the moron who painted it used eggshell paint, which grabs dirt and sucks it in like nothing else. Even I know to use semi-gloss on doorframes and skirting boards, and I suck at everything DIY! The dirty doorframe also led to me cleaning around the light switch, but the paint there was so filthy that the clean spot showed up loud and clear. I ended up having to clean in a wide circle and fade out gradually, since I'm not about to take to the whole wall with a bottle of Windex Multi-Surface.

I am tired and frazzled and sick of cleaning. Elrohir is doing very little to help. ALL I asked him to do was wash the lino and vacuum the living room, but I don't think he got either task done. Right now he's in the kitchen doing shots of lemon juice. I don't see how that's helping at all. And yesterday I asked him to toss the pumpkins and take down the plastic pumpkin Balathin lights over the door, but he didn't do that either. I had to do everything myself. And I see we now have a pumpkin stain on the drapes from Sauron going mushy and collapsing sideways! This is just great. Now I bet Manwë's going to say we're too pathetic to be Elves, and force us into mortality. The way things have been going, I wouldn't be surprised.

To try and calm down, I rang grandpa and asked what I should do in this situation. He's the only person I know who's been on familiar terms with one of the Ainur. He was no help, though, because he didn't understand what I was talking about. I had to practically scream, "MELIAN!" into the receiver before he got it. Then all he said was, "Well, that's different, she was pretending to be a regular Elf all that time, so we treated her like one of us." That really didn't make me feel any better.

I think my only hope now is to take some sleeping pills and watch telly until I'm too stupefied to care.

November 19th

Manwë did not come. Eönwë came instead. That was a bit less stress-inducing. Now at least I don't have to worry about Manwë noticing the peculiar smell coming from our front closet. I'm sure Eönwë is used to peculiar smells. He does all of Manwë's dirty work.

He showed up on our front step shortly after breakfast. I noticed, when I answered the door, that he had no car. Do Ainur travel in vehicles? Planes? Or do they just randomly appear places? Eönwë looked sort of like he'd just randomly appeared, so I wonder. He was wearing comfortable clothing and practical shoes. I invited him in, and Elrohir offered to make tea. The three of us sat around the kitchen table talking about how much colder it is here than in Valmar while we drank tea and ate biscuits. I would have offered him leftover Balathin candy, but it seems Elrohir and I ate it all some time ago. Then it was down to business.

Eönwë stated the facts, that long ago dad had been given the choice of kindreds and he chose Elves, and now we were given that same choice. Then he went into listing the pros and cons of each race. He talked about Elvish history, and how the Gondorian economy is doing right now, and why it's important to carefully consider all aspects of the decision before leaping into anything. "Now I want you both to think carefully about this," he said, "because your decision will stay with you for the rest of your life. If you need a little longer to decide..."

"Elves," Elrohir and I said, quickly and at the same time. Eönwë looked at us in surprise. "Alright then," he said. He punched a few keys on his Blackberry. "I think that's everything. You should hear from our office regarding the finalisation of this agreement by the end of next week." 

And that was that. I showed Eönwë to the door, and he walked away down the driveway. I was sort of hoping he'd poof away in a flash of light and prove my theory of random appearances, but no such luck. He walked away like a regular person on his way to the bus stop. How boring.

I also forgot to ask why Manwë's office rang me collect. Now I will probably never know.

November 25th

The following email arrived just as I was getting ready to leave work for the day:

-----  
From: "Ingwë Orozer" ingwe.orozermhn.tn.gov  
Subject: congratulations status of Elladan and Elrohir

Dear masters Elladan and Elrohir Peredhel;

It is very much pleasing for us to informing of you  
that you have new status of official Elf given by  
Manwë effective now. It is now open to you,  
travelling to Aman and living here when you are  
wanting. Thank you for this most quick deciding and  
choosing being one with us kindred.

Ingwë Orozer  
Tecar Máhanwa  
pal: 94-11-255-275  
-----

Well. I am now an Official Elf, authorised by Manwë. I'm sort of disappointed they didn't send me a stamped and signed certificate of Elfness to frame and hang on my wall. Or maybe an ID card to put in my wallet.

To celebrate officially becoming Elves, Elrohir and I went out for supper to the Great Buffet of Ossiriand, affectionately known as the Grease Buffet of Ossiriand, where we filled up on cheap pseudo-Nandorin food. Elrohir tried to get me to bet that he couldn't eat twenty spring rolls, but I know better than to bet against Elrohir's stomach. I've seen him in action. And even without the bet, he still ate twenty spring rolls just to prove he could, and two bowls of hot and sour soup, and a plate of ginger beef. The Nandorin family at the next table, who had filled their plates with mashed potatoes and pizza, stared in disgust. As expected, he sicked up in the car park on the way out.

When we got home I lay in the bath for a while and tried to see if I felt any different, any more Elvish, but the only thing I noticed was that I had a slight pain in my left knee and that my toenails need clipping. Otherwise, I appear to be the same as always. Being an Official Manwë-Approved Elf isn't as exciting as it sounds.

November 28th

Nobody at work noticed or commented on my new Elf status. I am sorely disappointed. And nothing at all happened today, apart from the P's buzzing getting a bit louder. I looked around for a way to disconnect it, but it is on the outside of the building and my window doesn't open, so I have no access to the stupid thing. I hate that P.

Had an email from Glorfindel containing seven words and four megs worth of pictures from Elairon's first birthday party. Elairon wearing a paper hat, Elairon sitting in front of a cupcake, Elairon sticking his hand into the cupcake, Elairon smearing the cupcake over his hair, Elairon smearing the cupcake over Aralindë's hair, Glorfindel wiping smeared cupcake from Elairon's forehead, Elairon smearing cupcake residue onto Glorfindel's tie, Elairon having a bath in a sink full of cupcake crumb water, Elairon tearing the wrap off of presents, Elairon eating the wrap, and so on. After twenty minutes of looking at the photos, it felt rather as if I had been there and had cupcake smeared over my own hair.

Also felt like a turd for forgetting to send a present. I will have to remember for Fiommereth. I settled for sending him an email back telling him that Elrohir and I are now officially Elves. Also emailed dad. This seems like the sort of thing he'd want to know about.

December 1st

Now that it is December 1st, the Fiommereth season can officially start. Now I won't mind the explosion of decorations and holiday cheer. I didn't even mind the P so much today. It was still buzzing, but at least on a pitch that complimented the holiday muzak coming over the office PA system.

December 3rd

Snow today. I hope this stuff stays. I suppose it's nice and seasonal that a good snow comes at the beginning of December, but I'm a bit annoyed that it chose to come on a Saturday. I was hoping for a weekday, so I'd have an excuse to stay home from work. "My driveway's full of snow and I can't get the car out" is a good one. Nobody can argue with that. It was nice to sit by the fire and eat cookies with hot chocolate, but it would have been far sweeter to know I was missing work to do so. Oh well.

December 5th

Somebody decorated my office with tinsel and plastic holly over the weekend. Granted it does look festive, but the tinsel got caught in my electric pencil sharpener this morning and created a bit of a hassle. Also, it is hard to get anything out of my in-basket for all the sharp plastic holly leaves. I have scratches all over my hand and wrist.

After work, Elrohir and I discussed what we want to do for Fiommereth. Elrohir wants to spend the holidays with grandpa, either here or in Lorien, since neither of us wants to go to Gondor to be with Arwen and Aragorn. I would rather go to Lórien. If grandpa comes here, then all the burden of preparation and food-cooking is on us. But if we go to Lórien, we get to be the guests and have a free ride the whole time. Elrohir agreed to go, but only if he could bring his iguana. I pointed out that we should probably ask grandpa what his plans are.

I rang him in Caras Galadhon and outlined our plan of coming to visit, and he said, "That would be very nice, Elladan, but unfortunately I've already been invited to spend Fiommereth with Thranduil in Mirkwood."

Well that's just great! Dad's not here, Erestor's not here, Glorfindel's not here, grandma's not here, and grandpa's going to be in Mirkwood! Now Elrohir and I are going to have to spend the holidays by ourselves! Or possibly with Lindir, but that really doesn't even warrant consideration. He is about exciting as black socks. I broke the news to Elrohir, and he started fussing. He has no intention of spending Fiommereth just with me. He was on the telephone to Legolas within five minutes, and by eight o'clock had secured us an invitation to join the festivities in the forest.

I guess this means we are going to Mirkwood too.

December 6th

Plane fares to Mirkwood (or anywhere, really) are frightful this time of year. It's going to cost well over a thousand dollars for two round trip tickets! And the airline prohibits the transportation of reptiles. Elrohir is not going to like this.

We leave on the 19th at 5.15 in the morning. Ouch.

December 7th

As expected, Elrohir had an enormous fuss when I told him he'd have to leave his iguana at home. I assured him he would be able to find a competent iguana-sitter somewhere, but he said that wasn't the point. The main problem, in his eyes, was that the iguana would be all by itself and without him on days when family and loved ones are supposed to be together. He stroked the iguana lovingly as he said this. It sneezed on him. I almost said that the iguana likely can't tell the difference between him and anyone else, but I tactfully refrained. I didn't want to make him cry.

December 9th

I told dad that Elrohir and I were going to be spending Fiommereth in Mirkwood, and he said, somewhat surprised, "They're letting you go?" I had no idea what he was talking about, so I said, "What are you talking about?" He launched into a lengthy explanation of how he had never been allowed to go to Mirkwood for more than two nights in a row, due to worries over him being kidnapped by Silvan extremists and held prisoner for something. He was too irreplaceable for something like that to happen. I said, "Oh." I never asked anyone if it would be alright if I went to Mirkwood. I just assumed nobody would care. Dad said, "You'd better discuss things with the Minister of Defence on Monday."

I never should have said anything. Now I have this to worry about all weekend!

December 11th

Worried all weekend about the upcoming trip to Mirkwood. I am starting to hate being a world leader. I have a buzzing P in my office window, and it's suddenly become a major security issue for me to leave town. I liked it better when I was an unimportant university student. True, the pay wasn't as good, but at least nobody cared what I did. Except dad.

I did force myself out of the house to go shopping yesterday, though. Now I know how dad must have felt going out in public to do mundane things like Fiommereth gift buying. Super Drug Mart was full of people who _looked _at me. Before, when they didn't know who I was, they ignored me, but now that I've been on television a few times they _look. _They _look_ to see what brand of mouthwash I buy. They _look_ to see how many boxes of cookies I get. They stare as I dig through the bin of three-pairs-for-$9 socks. They openly gawk at my selection of cheap chocolates, as if to say "somebody who has been on television should buy more expensive, impressive candy". Every time I turned around, somebody was either _looking _openly at me or looking at me while pretending they weren't _looking _at me.

I picked up a book of Deluxe Fill-It-Ins, an inflatable bath pillow, and a $7 Beach Boys CD for dad. Also a massaging car seat cover for grandpa. I had almost gone so far as to put a bottle of multivitamins for Erestor into my basket when I realised that maybe shopping exclusively at Super Drug Mart wasn't the best idea. So I went through the check-out, but picked up a miniature grooming kit consisting of tweezers and tiny scissors on the way. I can give that to dad too. His eyebrows have always been a bit out of control.

Across from Super Drug Mart was PetCetera, so I went in there and bought an iguana harness and leash set for Elrohir. Actually it was a kitten harness, but it looked about the right size for the iguana. I asked the apathetic-looking youth who worked there if they had any iguana accessories in, and he led me to a small corner of one aisle. I found: special tinned iguana food, a studded vinyl biker vest made for iguanas, and novelty lizard bath soap. All of it was on clearance, so I got one of each. Then when I thought not too many people were _looking_, I ducked into one of those lacy ladies' shops and bought a satin house robe for grandma. I wasn't certain if mum and dad are back together, or if we are on family terms again, but I thought I ought to play it safe. Bought her a pair of gel-bottom slippers, some aromatherapy candles, and a hairbrush that promotes environmental awareness. That left only Erestor's present.

I spent the rest of the afternoon lugging bags of crap from Super Drug Mart, PetCetera and the lacy lady store all over the mall, trying to find something for Erestor. He is the most difficult person in the world to buy for. By three o'clock I was tired and starving and just plain didn't care any more, so I went to one of those rugged men's shops (the kind that have fake screen doors covering pine tree wall murals in a hunting lodge sort of theme) and got him masculine (read: unfashionable) plaid pyjamas. I was_ looked_ at while I did. I wanted desperately to explain to lookers-on that the pyjamas were not for me but for my dad's illicit lover, who will hopefully wear them and therefore be decently covered in bed at all times, but I think that would have made them _look_ even more.

Couldn't handle going to the food court for a snack after that. Couldn't handle the thought of being _looked_ at while I ate congealing food court food. Instead, I went back to Super Drug Mart to buy a Mars bar. I think that place must be enchanted with some sort of consumer frenzy magic, because I left with a Mars bar, a three-roll pack of holiday foil wrap, four litres of Coke, a roll of film, and a pine-scented candle in a festive tin. My mistake was picking up the basket at the door. If you pick up a basket, you feel obligated to fill it with Things.

When I got back home I remembered about Glorfindel, Aralindë, and Elairon. Bugger! I have no desire to go back to the mall any time within the next ten years, so I may just have to buy something off ebay and have it shipped to them direct.

December 12th

Organised a meeting with the Minister of Defence this afternoon. I explained my plans to go to Mirkwood, and she said that should be fine, provided I a) do not travel with my deputy-PM (easily done- I don't think Lindir has ever left the city), and b) I do travel with somebody reliable who can watch out for my well-being. I told her I would be travelling with Elrohir. She said that was good enough. Clearly, she has never met Elrohir.

I rang dad when I got home and told him everything was arranged for my trip and there were no problems. He sounded surprised and asked about five times if I was sure there wasn't some mistake, because they'd never have let him go. I assured him that I am hardly as irreplaceable as he was, and that my being kidnapped by Silvan anarchists would hardly cause the government of Rivendell to collapse into chaos. It might cause a minor fight over who got my ergonomic wheelie chair, but that's about all I can foresee. So Mirkwood it is.

December 15th

Elrohir and I are torn over whether or not we should decorate the house. On the one hand, it makes everything look nice and festive, and decorating can be fun. On the other hand, we'll be leaving in four days and won't be here for the entire holiday stretch to enjoy our handiwork. And we won't even be here to plug in the lights at night so the neighbours can enjoy our handiwork. It seems like a waste of time to bother setting up all the lights and things, but at the same time it seems like a waste of tradition not to.

LATER: We compromised and did a half-arsed job decorating the front window only, with the two strings of lights that weren't tangled, and I nailed up the falling-apart old pinecone wreath. Elrohir also set up the porcelain Valar on the shelf by the piano, and put the mechanical trouser-dropping Aulë doll on the kitchen buffet. It took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes is the exact right length of time to decorate. Just long enough to be fun, not long enough to get tedious. It's over quick so we can move on to drinking cider by the fire and playing cards.

December 17th

Last day of work for the year! I was one of about three people who showed up today. Lindir and I were the only ones on our whole floor. We took turns riding down the disabled ramp on our wheelie chairs. He fell off and cracked his elbow on the skirting board, but no severe damage was done. Then, when he wasn't looking, I used the postage metre to stamp all the parcels I have to send to Valinor. No way am I spending eighty dollars of my own money! I know full well they're not going to get there on time (or probably even until the end of January), but I cleverly backdated the stamps to the middle of November so they'll think I remembered to send things on time and the packages were just held up in the crummy overseas postal service.

By one o'clock even Lindir the model employee wanted to go home, so we decided to call it a day and headed down for drinks at the crappy little pub in the Dominion Centre. It was packed with what looked like the entire downtown corporate sector having early post-work drinks. The only free table we could find was directly beneath a speaker that was blaring bad country Fiommereth music. However, it did work out well for me, because I'm sure that whatever I couldn't hear Lindir saying was no more interesting than "Ye-Haw It's Snowing". The downside, though, is now I have that stupid song stuck in my head.

When I got home, Elrohir was showing Taleryn how to properly look after the iguana while we're gone. She yelled when it tried to climb into her hair. Elrohir tried to say encouraging things, but I could tell from the look on his face that he was starting to regret ever having the idea of getting her to care for the iguana. I give their relationship until the end of January at the most. Elrohir could never seriously date anyone who didn't share his love for impractical reptilian pets.

December 18th

The flight tomorrow leaves at 5.15, which means we have to be checked in at 3.15, which means we have to get up at 1.30 in order to have enough time to dress, eat, drive to the airport, and find parking. Given that I should probably have eight hours of sleep so as not to be cranky when Legolas picks us up, I ought to go to bed at 5.30, which was just over two hours ago. Great. I still have to finish packing.

I just know this is going to be a bad, bad start to the holiday season. I just know it.

December 19th

Valar save me, I am in a third world country. I know people always make snide remarks about the quality of life in Mirkwood, but I never actually expected them to be true! It is nine pm, and I am freezing and starving and about _this close_ to death.

My room, which is more like a prison cell (made from cinder blocks and all), has no windows, no heat, no electricity, and no running water. There's a sink, but it doesn't work. There's some sort of button-and-dial contraption on the wall, but I'm not sure what it does. Heat, maybe? Electricity? I can't figure out how to use it. I'm stuck with whatever battery life my computer has and the few candles I could find in my nightstand drawer. I am wearing all the clothes I packed AND I am wrapped in the scratchy wool blankets that were on my bed, but it's no use. I'm pretty sure the temperature in here has to be at least -20. We've not eaten since just after noon, and even that was a substandard watery sausage soup.

Also, it's no help that I'm horribly, horribly tired. The flight was long and bumpy, and Lasgalen Airlines has cut every possible courtesy. I had nothing to drink or eat and couldn't rent a pillow the whole way because they don't accept Rivendell dollars and I didn't think to go to the currency exchange at the airport. I couldn't understand the safety features of the aircraft presentation because the flight attendant had such a bad Silvan accent. I couldn't get my seat to recline, and Elrohir couldn't get his to go back up after he finally got it down. They lost Elrohir's luggage, though I'm not sure how that's possible, as we checked our bags at the exact same time and mine arrived without incident. Actually the suitcase had a big oil stain down one side, but at least it was present and in one piece. Also, nobody bothered to tell me that there _isn't actually any airport in Mirkwood_. Apparently they share an airport with Dale, and it's an hour south-east in the middle of nowhere. Aggravation abounds.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to die tonight. Dad was right. I never should have come here. Why are parents always right? And why do children never listen to them?


	3. Chapter 3

December 20th

I didn't die.

Just before ten, Legolas came to fetch me for supper. He walked in on me huddled on my bed in the cold and dark, clinging desperately to the friendly glow of the computer screen, and asked me why I hadn't turned on the lights and heat. I told him I didn't know how. He went over to the box on the wall with all the knobs and dials, fiddled with a few things, and there was light! Then something started whirring, and he said there was heat! He showed me how to work both things. There is no central heating here, only an electric wall heater, so I have to remember to turn it on and off manually. The light controls are on the same unit as the heating panel. Nothing is marked, so I'm not sure how I'll remember it, but at least I know now that I won't die. And I may not be in a third world country after all. It's only second world.

I asked him if there were any outlets where I could plug in the computer, and he showed me these weird holes in the wall that I originally thought were for ventilation purposes. Maybe because they had cold air coming through them. But Legolas explained that the cold air was only due to poor insulation (as if there's any insulation in this place!), and that the holes were indeed power outlets. I think I'm going to need an adaptor. I'll get him to take me shopping tomorrow. I also asked him if he could make my sink work, but he said no, it was just plain broken. I have to use the communal sink in the bathroom down the corridor.

Then we went for supper. I guess people in Mirkwood eat supper very late, because it was nearly ten thirty by the time we sat down. We had: some weird stew, mashed vegetable (I couldn't tell if it was potato, turnip, or something else I've never heard of), abnormally long green beans, cabbage, and a pudding-like thing with bland creamy sauce on it. Thranduil kept trying to talk at me while I ate, but I was so tired I couldn't manage anything more than an occasional yes-I'm-still-paying-attention nod. Eventually he gave up and talked at grandpa instead. Grandpa's been here four days and already looks like he regrets ever thinking Fiommereth in Mirkwood could be a good idea. The electric wall heater in his room doesn't work, so he has a plug-in unit. It buzzes loudly. I know exactly how annoying that can be, having lived with a buzzing P in my office for six weeks.

I fell asleep as soon as I got back to my (slightly warmer than before) room, but woke up at quarter after five this morning because my sleeping schedule is all screwed up. There was nothing better to do, and I couldn't fall back asleep, so I bundled up in the least itchy wool blanket and went to sit by the electric heater and read. I stayed there until seven, when I went to find Elrohir. He was sitting on the floor in his room by his heater, reading a comic. Legolas was with him. Legolas explained that it's a tradition among Mirkwood youth to turn on the electric wall heater after getting up of a morning and read a while before breakfast. I have accidentally participated in a special Mirkwood family tradition. Legolas also said that when he used to share a room with his brother, they'd fight over who got the better spot on the floor. That was also a tradition. I couldn't argue with that, so I shoved Elrohir out of the way and made myself comfortable by his electric heater, itchy blanket wrapped snugly around me. I must admit, it was rather satisfying in a rustic sort of way. I'll have to invite grandpa to join us tomorrow.

After breakfast (Frosted Flakes- I was almost hoping for something more ethnic, but not really), we sat around by the heaters some more until we were warm enough to do things. Then we sat around by the heaters longer because there was nothing to do. Then we watched television. It was mostly reality shows and low-budget movie-of-the-weeks. After lunch (fried pork in some weird white sauce that tasted a bit like yoghurt) I decided to have a shower, but that was a mistake. The water pressure here might as well be non-existent. It took me twenty minutes to wash the first shampoo out of my hair. I didn't bother doing a second, and used a minimal amount of conditioner. I think I'm going to have baths from now on. I can't spare forty minutes each day to shower.

Actually I can, because there's nothing to do here apart from sit around by the electric wall heaters, but I just don't want to.

We spent some more time in the afternoon around the heater, then watched more television, and then Elrohir had the bright idea of hauling Legolas' small television into the bedroom so we could watch reality shows while sitting around the heater. We did that until supper time. My eyes sort of hurt now. But at least that's one day wasted. Only thirteen left to go. I am looking forward to the flight back to Rivendell on January 3rd so much it isn't funny.

December 21st

Today at one o'clock Thranduil came in, turned our electric heater off, and insisted we go do something. In particular, he wanted Legolas to go to the market and buy some special holiday foods. Elrohir and I had to go with him by default, as he is our trusted guide in this strange place. We got dressed, shovelled the snow and ice away from the garage door, and drove to the market in a very small car that I'm pretty sure was made of fibreglass. That can't be safe.

The market was down a narrow, tree-lined street. Everything here is down a narrow, tree-lined street. I can't tell one from another. I'm not sure how Legolas can. We finally wound up parked haphazardly in the middle of a square, surrounded by other small fibreglass cars stuck at odd angles. Legolas explained that Mirkwood car parks have no order, that everyone just parks where they fit in the big jumble of cars, and woe to whomever is stuck in the middle of the mess because they're not getting out any time soon. Then we walked down some narrow streets to the outdoor market.

Really, only a completely brainless culture would think of having an outdoor market in the middle of winter in a climate that boasts the most snowfall and coldest temperatures of all non-mountain regions. The whole market was full of vendors wearing furry parkas so huge that they ceased to look like Elves and almost looked more like bears. We could tell they were Elves, though, by the way they were sitting around their portable electric heaters in their little vendor tents. They were all selling various seasonal products, from baking to ornaments to roasted nuts. Elrohir bought a newspaper cone full of the roasted nuts, and we were both highly disappointed to discover they had a taste and texture very similar to potatoes, only less good. Legolas bought a bag of cookies, some odd-looking fruitcake loaves, a few bottles of a wine-type drink, a sack of holly leaves, some hard candy, and a large braided bread. I wanted to buy some little wooden ornaments, but I couldn't because I've still not gone to the currency exchange and the ornament vendors didn't take Visa.

When we were done at the market, I made Legolas drive me to a store that did take Visa, so I could buy an outlet adaptor. After we waited around in the car park for an hour until the jackass blocking our way out saw fit to move his stupid fibreglass car, that is.

We made frozen pizza for supper, because Thranduil and his wife had taken grandpa out cross country skiing and there was no grand eating plan. We ate it while sitting around the heater in Legolas' room.

December 22nd

Legolas' older brother, Glorion, and his wife, Lerael, arrived today. They live in Belfalas and have a small son who is ten months old. I'm not sure what his name is, since they only ever call him "Baby". He is just starting to walk and talk. I can see how this is going to get annoying very quickly.

Glorion owns condo complexes in Belfalas. He wears suits and ties around the house, all the time, even while watching telly. He reads the financial section of the newspaper. I dislike him already. I also dislike Lerael, mostly because her name sounds too similar to Legolas' mum's name (Liril), and she always assumes everybody's trying to talk to her when they say "Liril", which makes no sense. Why would I want to ask her were the spare toilet roll is kept? But mostly I dislike Baby. The second most annoying thing about him is that he poops all over the floor. The most annoying thing is that _Glorion and Lerael don't care_. They do not believe in diapers, so instead they let Baby wander around with no bottoms on so he can go whenever he wants, wherever he wants, and they clean it up. But not always right away.

So at lunch today, in the middle of some bland sausage soup, Baby came toddling over to Glorion's chair and whispered, "Oos." This, I have learned, means, "I pooped." Glorion picked him up, wiped his bum with a paper napkin, _put the napkin back onto the table_, and continued eating! None of the Mirkwood folk seemed to even notice, but grandpa looked horrified, and rightly so! Even Elrohir wrinkled his nose, and he is usually in favour of all ideas of the zany, preposterous, impractical, or just plain stupid variety. We had to sit through the rest of dinner with the smell of poo wafting through the air. Baby had done his business right by one of the electric wall heaters.

When the airport rang to say they had located Elrohir's luggage and we could either come collect it or wait and have it couriered to us tomorrow, I was all for driving out to get it. Two hours out of the house and away from Glorion's family is not something I'm about to turn down, even if it is two hours spent on the highway to and from the airport.

After the airport, I made Legolas take me shopping. Mostly because I just wanted to stay away from the house, but also because I figured I should probably buy presents for everyone. Legolas helped me. We bought:

Scratch-and-win lotto tickets for Glorion and Lerael. I feel obliged to get them something, but at the same time, I don't care enough to get them something good. Also threw in a plastic rattle toy shaped like a strawberry for Baby. It makes a terrible grating sound when shaken. My wish is for it to thoroughly get on Glorion and Lerael's nerves.

Ski wax for Thranduil. Legolas assured me this is what he wants. I'm a bit uncertain, but who am I to argue? Legolas probably knows what his dad wants. Probably. But then as we walked past an apothecary I saw a big cardboard display of some amazing new product that's supposed to cure muscle pain, so I picked up a bottle of that. From what I remember of Thranduil, he loves any and all random pharmaceuticals with the words "NEW!" and "As seen on TV!" embossed on the label.

Slippers for Thranduil's mum. Who doesn't want slippers? And they were cheap. If I did the currency conversion right.

One of those crappy ocean sounds relaxation CDs and a bottle of calming aromatherapy oil for Liril. She seems like the type who would use such things. I'm always seeing her take anti-stress pills.

Bath stuff for Legolas' sisters. Only had to buy four perfumy gift baskets, since the oldest one is staying with her uni boyfriend in Lórien this year.

A gift card to a DVD store for Legolas. He was watching while I bought his present. Actually, he told me what to get for him. He promised to look surprised when he opens it. That's good enough for me.

We got back home just in time to visit for a while before supper, and by "visit" I mean "listen to Thranduil, Glorion, and grandpa argue about politics". Thranduil is a socialist. Glorion is a capitalist. Grandpa is somewhere in the middle. They can't agree on anything. Mostly just Thranduil and Glorion yell at each other, but sometimes grandpa interjects with something neither of them care about. The visit ended with Glorion storming off when Thranduil accused him of being Noldorin, and Thranduil yelling after him that, "Anyone who thinks like that is the cause of all the problems in this world!" Glorion, Lerael, and Baby went out for supper. As an appreciative gesture, I made a point of sitting by Thranduil as we ate and pretending to be interested in what he had to say. That took some effort. He was complaining about faulty stringing on a generic hired badminton racquet he was forced to use at the Court Club this afternoon when he forgot his own, and how it caused him to ruin a twenty-nine game winning streak against the chief of police.

December 23rd

Glorion and Thranduil have made up. I was hoping Glorion would be angry enough to stay distant for at least a few days, or maybe even go home, but the rift only lasted until shortly after breakfast this morning.

Thranduil was by the back door, bending down to tie up his ski boots. Glorion was leaning against the kitchen archway, looking surly. Baby had just escaped from his mother's watchful eye and was tearing around the place as fast as his legs could carry him. He ran right up to hunched-over Thranduil, smacked him on the bottom, and yelled, "BUM!"

Glorion applauded. "Bum" was a new word for Baby. And Thranduil, proud to be the teacher of this new word, was laughing and reminiscing with Glorion within seconds.

I didn't stay around for the celebration. I talked Legolas and Elrohir into going to a movie. Baking a cake in honour of a small child learning to say "bum" isn't really my idea of a good time. Also, Baby looked like he was in a pooping mood.

December 24th

Legolas and Elrohir are perpetually in trouble. Glorion snitched to Liril this morning that they were up to no good, and she discovered them in a bathroom, decorating themselves with permanent marker. Elrohir has "FLAMING BEE" written across his back. Legolas' chest says "BOOTY CLUB".

As punishment, Elrohir had to help Thranduil's mum peel approximately seven million potatoes for the big community supper tomorrow. Legolas was sent out to get the tree. I was a bit surprised to hear this, since I thought Fiommereth trees were a Noldorin tradition, but Thranduil yelled at me for being stupid and corrected my misconception. Decorated trees, he claims, are actually a Sindarin tradition from their old pre-colonial winter festival. In those days, people put presents on the tree, and strings of berries and cookies. The invading Noldor stole the tradition, altered it so the tree represented one of the Two Trees of Valmar, and then proceeded to ruin everything else about the celebration. For my ignorance, I was sentenced to go help Legolas get the tree. I tried to point out to Thranduil that I am now a respected world political figure, and he can't just boss me around like a little kid, but he didn't seem to care. I had to help Legolas get the tree.

Getting a tree in Mirkwood is way more of an ordeal than getting a tree in Rivendell. In Rivendell, we drive to a tree lot in a shopping mall car park, fork over too much money, and the hardest part is getting the tree bungeed onto the roof of the car. In Mirkwood, getting the tree involves bundling up in so many layers of winter clothes you can hardly move, finding the rusty old saw under a pile of extension cords and dirty plant pots in the garage, wading out through knee-deep snow, and finding the one reasonable tree in the middle of the forest to cut down and haul home. It took us _six hours_. Finding a tree of the proper size and shape was the hardest part. Legolas was far too picky. I'm not sure why he said no to the one with two tops. Apart from having two tops, it was completely fine.

Once we found the perfect tree, or as perfect as we could find, we had to saw it down with a blade that really didn't work too well. It worked even less well in our frozen, mittened hands. Dragging it home wouldn't have been too bad if we hadn't already been exhausted from trudging through the snow and so cold we couldn't feel our legs. I could have punched Elrohir, waving cheerfully to us from his stool in the nice warm kitchen as we hauled the tree inside. The most dangerous thing that happened to him all day was a piece of potato skin falling into his lap and making a starch stain.

We set up the tree in Thranduil's crappy aluminium tree stand (I think it must be a Fiommereth tradition worldwide to have to wrestle with tree stands that don't work properly) while Liril and Thranduil unpacked the decorations. I can't even begin to describe how relieved I was to learn Mirkwood trees don't have minilights on them. After my experience with the string of mini-unlights, I was beginning to get an unpleasant churning sensation in my stomach at the thought of Thranduil criticising my inexpert lighting abilities.

Now that I've very thoroughly experienced both cultures, I think I can safely say that the only similarities between a Rivendell tree and a Mirkwood tree are as follows:  
1) The tree is an evergreen.  
2) It is put into a precariously tippy metal stand.

Apart from having no minilights, Mirkwood trees are also devoid of all shiny gold and silver plastic crap. Most importantly, this means no tinsel to stick to everything and cause a huge mess. I like Mirkwood trees a lot better already (apart from the bit about going out into the forest in the middle of a blizzard to saw them down). All the decorations are carved, painted wood, in the shape of toys, food, children, animals, snowflakes, and other wholesome things. Trying to make up for my earlier ignorance, I asked Thranduil if the little wooden doll and drum ornaments were meant to represent actual gifts that would have been placed on the tree in earlier times, and he said yes, now I was catching on to things. As a reward, he told me I could be the first one to string a cookie onto the long thread to wrap around the tree.

Putting cookies onto thread is a lot harder than it sounds. First, the cookies are tiny, about the size of my fingernail. Second, they are very brittle. I broke four trying to pierce them with the oversize needle before I finally managed to get one onto the thread. The plus side to this, though, is that we got to eat all the broken cookie halves. And they're damn tasty. We started with an enormous bowl full of cookies, and ended up with a whole ten feet of widely spaced, useable cookied thread. This was probably because we were all eating cookies that weren't even broken. I know I was. I couldn't help myself. I had a stomach ache from eating so many, but it was impossible to stop. I swear those things are addictive (even though they look like dog food).

Thranduil wrapped the ten-foot cookie thread around the middle of the tree and pronounced the evening's celebrations officially started. Liril brought out a tray of mugs filled with hot spiced wine, Thranduil's mum brought out a selection of more cookies, cakes, and breads, and we all proceeded to get a bit tipsy and silly. Disaster almost happened when Baby tried to pull the tree down to reach the cookie string, but luckily Liril caught him in time. The tree did start to lean dangerously to the left because of him. We couldn't get the stupid stand straight again, so Thranduil had to tie it up to the overhead track lighting with some fishing line.

Around what should have been supper time (though there was no supper, as we were all far too full on cookies), people started showing up at the door to sing. Thranduil gave them cookies. I don't know where all the cookies were coming from, but it looked like Thranduil's mum must have been baking all year to produce that many. I also don't know where all the wine was coming from. I don't remember ever refilling my mug, but it was always full somehow. Holiday magic, I guess.

The uncontrolled revelry went on until midnight. Then, when the singers had all gone home and the cookies had all somehow been eaten (I lost count of how many I had), we sat around by the tippy tree and exchanged gifts. I got:

An incredibly soft and fuzzy pair of pyjamas from Elrohir.  
An electronic daytimer from grandpa.  
A gift card for a DVD store from Legolas. (I told him what to get me, too.)  
A book about outdoor fitness from Thranduil and Liril.  
A bag of the tiny, addictive cookies from Thranduil's mum.  
Socks, crossword puzzle books, a calendar, and a family pack of Smarties from Legolas' various sisters.  
Lotto tickets from Glorion and Lerael. (Who the hell do they think they are, giving me such a cop-out gift!)

There was some photo-taking, and some more singing, and more eating even though we were already stuffed, and Baby (who was tired and owly by this point) had a temper tantrum in the middle of the used giftwrap pile because Thranduil accidentally dropped a warm cheese puff onto his head. Lerael accused Thranduil of being careless around children. Thranduil retorted that the safety of his children was the most important thing in the world, only he gesticulated a bit too wildly, and Legolas, who had the unfortunate timing to lean down right then to pick up the dropped cheese puff, got smacked in the eye. Glorion started laughing and pointing out Thranduil's numerous flaws, Thranduil started swearing at him, and Liril chose this perfect moment to announce that she's pregnant.

Everyone in the room immediately shut up, and sat where they were, stunned. Everyone, that is, except Thranduil, who started cheering. He flung his arms out as a grand celebratory gesture, and promptly knocked over a candle, which in turn knocked over a cup of hot wine. It spilt all down Baby's front. The temper tantrum resumed. Lerael started to have a temper tantrum of her own. Thranduil was too busy kissing Liril to notice. Unlike most people who have been married longer than I've been alive, they have no shame, and their kissing involves all kind of slimy things and groping parts that are more appropriate for a porno movie than a holiday family gathering. I was really, really relieved when Legolas tugged on my sleeve and asked if Elrohir and I wanted to go watch television in his room and escape the gong show. We left Baby howling, Lerael raging, Glorion complaining, and Thranduil working his hand up Liril's skirt at a steady rate. Grandpa was pretending to be asleep in the rocking chair by the fire. I don't blame him.

So now I'm sitting on Legolas' bed and eating some chocolate-covered biscuits we lifted from the pantry (I'm not sure why, because I'm not the least bit hungry, but I can't seem to stop). Legolas and Elrohir are watching the Telerin game show channel, on which contestants are trying to jump off a springboard and land on a giant inflatable mushroom. The other channels only have sappy old black and white holiday movies, so the choice is limited.

I am wearing my new pyjamas, and they really are hazardously fuzzy. I keep rubbing my arms just to feel the fuzz. Legolas keeps rubbing me, too. He says he can't help it, due to the overwhelming fuzziness, but I'm suspicious. He could always rub my arms or knees instead of my thighs and bum.

It makes me ashamed of myself that I haven't asked him to stop.

December 25th

I didn't really get to sleep last night. I mean, I did sleep, but not in any significant way.

I remember that after about two hours of Telerin game shows, Elrohir switched to the Vanyarin game show channel, which isn't as physically hilarious but is for the most part equally bizarre. Only there weren't any Vanyarin game shows on. They had been pre-empted for some kind of charity telethon. The charity telethon was hosted by Glorfindel.

I don't think there are adequate words to describe how very odd it was to be sitting in Mirkwood at three in the morning, watching Glorfindel on television from a different continent. He was walking around some run-down huts in a hot, dry place (probably Valmar), talking about how your donation of only thirty dollars a month can help feed hungry children. Or something like that. It was all in Quenya and sort of hard to understand, but I'm sure that was the gist of it. His message was undermined, though, by repetition of the same shots of bored-looking women in dirty shawls holding a fat baby. It probably would have been more effective to show a skinny baby that wasn't struggling to escape.

Elrohir tried to ring the toll-free number to pledge a one-time amount of seven dollars, but was told by a Quenya-speaking robot that the charity was not equipped to accept overseas donations. By this time he was tired and ornery enough that having a robot tell him he couldn't send seven dollars to a fat Vanyarin baby made him really mad. We quickly decided that the only reasonable course of action would be to ring Glorfindel and complain.

We had to do this from Thranduil's office. Thranduil is terrified of long distance telephone charges, and has his whole place rigged so that only no-charge numbers can be dialled. The only way to telephone long distance is to go through his computer. This is about when I should have started to suspect that one thing could very easily and very quickly lead to another, and before long, we would certainly be up to no good. Should have, but didn't.

We turned on the modem, turned on the computer, and ate some toffees from a bowl on his desk while waiting for everything to load. I had time for three toffees, since Thranduil has his computer set so that about fifteen programs load at startup. We had to wait for everything from Outlook to Kodak Camera Centre. Once it was good to go, we were about to close Outlook and telephone Glorfindel on Skype, but a new mail message popped up just in time. The mail was from Glorfindel, with the subject line, "NINJA ATTACK!". Legolas opened it before I could tell him it probably wasn't a good idea. My mouth was too full of toffee.

The email's text said, inexplicably, "Ninjas, like their primitive ancestral forefathers, are still roaming at large to devour your crops, challenge your livestock, and confuse your attractive streetwalkers with the art of indecent dance." Attached were three photos of Glorfindel with a red sash tied around his head, wearing a cheap printed kimono and flipflops. In the first photo, he was cramming grapes into his mouth, and in the second, he was posing menacingly toward a toy monkey. In the third, his kimono had slipped off one shoulder, and he had adopted a disco-like stance as Aralindë (who was wearing a miniskirt with fishnet tights, and far too much makeup) looked on in exaggerated horror.

The three of us stared in shock for a good few minutes. Then Elrohir broke the silence by saying, "What the hell!" Legolas and I could only nod in agreement. We looked over the pictures again, read the message again, and noticed the email had also been sent to dad, Erestor, Círdan, grandma, grandpa, and some names I didn't recognise. After another minute of silence, Legolas noticed that there were other attachment messages from Glorfindel in Thranduil's inbox. He opened one. Then another. Then all of them. We stared in disbelief at pictures of Glorfindel pretending to be a Tiki man, Glorfindel being attacked by a plastic dinosaur, Glorfindel wearing a wig made out of dryer lint, Glorfindel posing nude behind a strategically placed frond, Glorfindel being a zombie, and so on. After more bizarre pictures of Glorfindel than I ever needed to see in my life, Elrohir pointed out that there were similar attachment messages from Thranduil in the "sent" folder. Thranduil bending to touch his elbow to his heel, sticking a carrot up his nose, sitting cross-legged on the toilet, being hit in the bum with a promotional X-Box foam ball, drinking a glass of vinegar, putting a fake moustache on a cactus, and so on. There were hundreds of these messages, some dating back years. We had unwittingly stumbled across some kind of Twilight Zone photo exchange club.

The madness should have ended there. The three of us were too disoriented by the evidence of perfectly boring adults doing such silly things to say or do anything more, so it was an ideal opportunity to just go to bed quietly. And we probably would have, if Glorfindel hadn't sent us an instant message.

Legolas was dumb enough to answer it. Then we were stuck pretending to be Thranduil for the next hour while Glorfindel wrote miles of inane comments about himself, his family, his car, his new condo, his loud neighbour, the statue down the street, the weather, weed, public transportation, pigeons, his hair, his wardrobe, recreational drugs, and whatever else popped into his head. Elrohir asked what the deal was with the charity, and Glorfindel said (in a long roundabout way that included a lengthy digression about falafels and sesame seeds) that the expense to allow overseas donations was greater than their likely overseas profit, given that the show only aired in Quenya and most of the eastern population likely didn't understand. Then we asked why he showed such a fat baby when a skinny one clearly would have been more heartbreaking. He informed us that the fat baby was Elairon.

Elrohir accused him of lying, and being high, and being a high liar. That sent him into another long explanation (including a digression about daylight savings time) of how poor and ignorant Vanyarin women, such as the kind he wanted to be in his show, refuse to be videotaped because they consider such things to be worse than prostitution. When they told Glorfindel and his film crew this, he had the bright idea to hire actual prostitutes at ACTRA union wage. So Elrohir was devastated to learn that the women in dirty shawls were prostitutes paid to look like wholesome beggars, and that the fat baby was just Elairon. I think this might put a damper on his enthusiasm for Vanyarin culture. Also for charitable giving. It'll be a long time before he's able to trust again.

We excused ourselves from the IM session as soon as was reasonably possible, which wasn't very soon at all. It took our overtired minds a good long while to think up a Thranduilish enough excuse as to why we had to go to bed, and in the end we told Glorfindel we had to get back to the television in order to tape a Dr. Who marathon that started in five minutes. I'm pretty sure he knew we were giving him the brush-off. He'll probably be mad at Thranduil next time they talk. Oh well. We went to bed with no more thoughts on that matter. Only when I got to my bed, it was ice cold because I'd forgotten to turn on the electric wall heater to warm up the room. I grabbed my pillow and a blanket and went to go join Legolas. I guess Elrohir had the same idea, because at seven this morning, a full two hours after we went to sleep, we all woke up in the same bed.

We only woke up because Thranduil was yelling at us that it was time to participate in something dumb. And by "something dumb" I mean, "The Community Association Winter Festival". He promised it would be a grand time, with sledding, skating, skiing, cider, snowball fights, prizes, a bonfire, and all kinds of good things. He said we were all signed up for the cross country ski race. I tried to roll over and go back to sleep, sure that this was some annoying dream, but it didn't work. An hour and a half later, I was outside in a borrowed snow suit, leaning against my ski poles wishing like nothing else that I was back in Rivendell where I could have stayed in bed until three if I wanted.

The ski race is the main event in this winter festival. Every year, over five hundred people gather to race Thranduil around a sixty kilometre course through the woods. Anyone who beats his time gets entered in a draw for a big prize, like a fibreglass car or something. I could have told him right off the start that Elrohir, Legolas and I (or at least Elrohir and I- I have no idea what Legolas' skiing abilities are) would have absolutely no chance whatsoever of winning that car, so we might as well just sit in the Community Cabin and eat stew, but he said we had to at least try because there were news crews about to videotape the awesome power of the Prime Minister of Rivendell trying to out-ski the King of Mirkwood. So not only do I get to make a fool of myself trying to ski sixty kilometres in a bright orange snow suit, I get to do it live on the air! Brilliant. This is just what my political career needs. I bet the unscrupulous Mirkwood networks will sell their footage to the A-Channel, too, just so everyone back home can see what a national embarrassment I am.

I was about to slink off into the stew line while rehearsing my excuse ("What? The race started without me? Well darn, that's disappointing."), but a rogue news crew trapped me by the Port-A-Johns and started asking about my chances in the upcoming race. I said, truthfully, "I'll be happy if I can do it in less than ten hours." Then they asked me how I was enjoying my visit to Mirkwood so far. I don't remember what I said. I hope it was at least partially intelligent.

The news crew followed me to the starting gate. I was unable to escape the watchful lens of their camera. I lined up with Legolas and Elrohir, adjusted my scarf, and tried not to do anything too embarrassing (like scratch my bum or fall over) while the news vultures were there. Then with the loud honk of an air horn, the race began. Hotshots like Thranduil in neon spandex racing suits and wraparound sunglasses took off at a world cup pace. Duds like me in snowsuits and knit hats slogged along at the back. I was tired within two minutes. After five, we took our first break, lying in the snow under a fir tree. Thereafter, we took breaks every ten minutes, and were soon the very last people in the race.

After two kilometres I had to eat my first energy bar, the chocolate one. After three kilometres, my water bottle was empty. After four kilometres, when I was sure for the second time this holiday season that I was going to die in Mirkwood, a miracle happened, and Elbereth answered the prayers I didn't even know I had made. Elrohir had a ski malfunction. One of the screws on his binding came out, and the binding began to wobble. This happened, conveniently about twenty metres away from the place where the trail forks off into a secondary path called "Chicken's Choice". It was the short (ha!) eleven kilometre loop for those who felt they couldn't do the whole sixty. We had a legitimate excuse for taking it. The referee at the check point still looked at us disparagingly, though.

Halfway between kilometres five and six, the second screw came out of Elrohir's binding. We had to slow down even more, so he could wobble along behind us with one foot constantly pivoting sideways off his ski. Almost two and a half hours had passed since the start of the race when we finally intersected with the tail end of the main trail and made it to the Bonfire Rest Stop at kilometre seven (kilometre fifty-six of the long loop). We were the first ones there. The referee looked so impressed and pleased that dear Legolas was ahead of his father for the first time ever that we couldn't tell him about the short cut. We let him give us free cocoa, and we sat around the bonfire for a while eating the rest of our energy bars (peanut butter flavour, completely frozen from being in the uninsulated pocket of my borrowed snow suit). I almost fell asleep leaning on Legolas' shoulder. I can't remember ever having felt that exhausted in my life. And there were four kilometres left on the vile ski trail.

Kilometre nine saw the third and final screw falling out of Elrohir's binding. He tried continuing on with only one ski, but his foot kept sinking down through ten inches of snow, and forward movement was impossible. We had to dig around for ten minutes, freezing our fingers, before Legolas found the screw and somehow fixed it back on with a luggage key he luckily had in his pocket. By this time, the first few of the neon spandex speed demons were starting to zip past us. I don't think any of them was Thranduil. Good thing, too, because he probably would have died of shame not only to see us pawing up the track, looking for a lone screw, but knowing that we took the Chicken's Choice route.

The time stamped on our participation cards as we reached the finish line was four hours and twelve minutes, almost an hour behind the fastest posted time. Twelve people beat Thranduil's time of three hours and thirty-one minutes. I didn't notice him passing us, but then, everybody looks the same while wearing a hideous neon spandex sports suit. Sure enough, when we went to get in the stew line for a chance to eat something warm while sitting down in the Community Cabin, Thranduil was right there to yell at us for taking the cheap way out. I had to explain in my most pathetic voice about Elrohir's broken ski. Elrohir had to show him the ski as evidence. Thranduil was forced to agree that no, we didn't have a choice in the matter, but he did forbid us from collecting participation medals on account of how we didn't ski the whole sixty kilometre loop. I really didn't give a toss. All I wanted was a bowl of stew. Which I had, in the Cabin, sitting by the electric heater vent.

Elrohir and I found grandpa in the Cabin. He'd been hiding out in the volunteer bathroom all morning, just in case Thranduil decided he did have to ski after all. I asked him what excuse he'd used, and he said he couldn't go skiing for the very practical reason that there's no snow in Lórien, and he didn't know how. For good measure, he also kept complaining about how much his knee hurt. I wish I'd thought of that. My knee really did hurt, but it was because I'd just been forced to ski eleven kilometres.

I didn't stick around for the big celebration supper or any of the other festivities. As soon as Legolas was done his royal duties of important stuff like drawing the name of the winner of the fibreglass car out of a big purple plastic clown head (the winner turned out to be some nutsack in blindingly bright neon spandex), I discretely informed him that we were leaving. He had no choice in the matter. We went to tell Elrohir, but he looked like he was having too much fun on the sledding hill with little kids stuffing snow down his parka, so we opted to sneak away without him. I was glad the news crews had finally decided to leave me alone. After my disastrous ski, they knew I wasn't worth the effort. They were interviewing grandpa about his knee pain instead.

Legolas and I made it all the way to the car park before we were accosted. Not by Thranduil or a news crew, but by old university acquaintances come back to haunt me at a very inopportune moment. Talathuir and Nova. I'd forgotten about him and had been trying not to remember her. I had to stop and have a brief and awkward conversation with them while Legolas warmed up the car.

They're getting married this spring, on a couples cruise to Tol Eressëa, and are spending their last Fiommereth in Middle-earth in Mirkwood of all places, with his aunt. They asked me what I was doing now, and I asked them what they were doing until their cruise wedding. They still live in the Grey Havens, where Talathuir fixes computers and Nova sells orthopaedic shoes at a store frequented by people like grandpa. I told them I'm the Prime Minister of Rivendell, about to get into a cold fibreglass car with the Prince of Mirkwood. Then they told me the funny story of how they got together. Turns out Talathuir's old girlfriend dumped him on the same day Elrohir dumped Nova, and they went to the pub together the next night out of mutual self-pity. They've been together ever since. Something seemed a bit odd with this scenario. An uncomfortable pause dragged on until I said, "Well, we're just heading out." They said, "Right, see you," and promised to send me a clever postcard from Aman. I didn't tell them to look for Elrohir on the sledding hill, as I'm sure that would have only caused a conflict.

Legolas drove home in tired silence. He looked sort of like a zombie. I felt sort of like a zombie. We listened to bad classic rock on the radio and didn't even care. When we got back to the house, which seemed strangely empty, he asked if I was hungry, then asked if I liked Nandorin food. I answered yes to both questions. He wanted to know what I liked best, and I told him hot and sour soup and pan fried dumplings, figuring we'd probably order in so we could eat greasy goodness while sitting like zombie lumps in front of the television. But the weirdo proceeded to get a bunch of things out of the fridge and pantry, and _make _hot and sour soup and pan fried dumplings! From scratch, without a recipe! It was sort of like he knew what he was doing. The end result was some of the best soup I've ever had, and a plate of damn good dumplings. I never even suspected Legolas could cook interesting food. I mean, I've seen him screw up Kraft Dinner. This shook my whole axis of perception. I may have to re-evaluate the universe.

I ate two bowls of soup and seventeen dumplings. We're now sort of watching television, indeed like zombie lumps, unable to move. I'm beyond the point of ultimate tiredness, where I'm no longer tired in a sleepy way, but am completely unable to do anything but stare meaninglessly at the computer screen and poke a few keys every now and again. I should really go to bed.

Or else I could just sit here and stare at Legolas for a while.


	4. Chapter 4

December 26th

Grandpa has had enough of Mirkwood. He's scheduled to stay until January 3rd, but I don't think he'll make it that long. He's already complaining that he wants to go home. Tomorrow.

Thranduil is, of course, disappointed. He had this big idea in mind that he could get grandpa to do all kinds of amazing things, like skiing and winter camping and badminton at the court club and helping decide what kind of new garage door to buy. Never mind that grandpa is no good at all of those things; he never participates in sports or recreational activities, and he's had the same ugly garage door since forever.

So Legolas and I have decided that Thranduil needs a new friend, now that Glorfindel has moved to Valinor and he doesn't have anybody to pester any more. Somebody who likes outdoorsy things, like hunting and camping and garage hardware. Unfortunately, I don't know anybody like that, and neither does Legolas. We were considering the eventuality that we might have to hold auditions for Thranduil's new buddy when Elrohir suggested Haldir. We evaluated the possibility.

Haldir lives on the outskirts of Caras Galadhon in a heavily wooded area. He likes monster trucks. He likes fixing things. He likes watching sports on telly, which means he might like doing sporting activities himself. He owns a rifle. He's not gay. He rarely has an opinion, never expresses political views, and, as a customs agent, is surely used to putting up with a lot of crap from loud people. Perfect. While Thranduil was busy trying to interest grandpa in a walk over to the civic centre, we snuck into his office to ring Haldir. Only we didn't know Haldir's number, so we had to try Orophin first.

Of course we were shocked to learn from Orophin that Haldir has been in the hospital for over a week, due to a construction accident of sorts. He didn't go into any details. So on the one hand, I now feel sorry for Haldir being in the hospital. But on the other, this is a perfect excuse for leaving Mirkwood. I have to admit- I want out of here, too. I had a quick conference with Elrohir and Legolas, and we decided that using Haldir's hospital stay as an excuse to take off for Lothlórien as soon as possible would be the best course of action. Legolas wants to come along with us. I'm starting to suspect that he dislikes this place as much as I do. He always seems to want to be somewhere else.

The first part of our plan is to hitch a ride with grandpa, and then somehow take a bus or train to be back here in time for our flights home. The second part of our plan is to somehow convince Thranduil to come with us on this road trip adventure, so he can meet Haldir and they can be best pals until the end of the world (or until one of them moves to Aman, whichever comes first). I hope he falls for our clever ploy. We're going to tell him that grandpa is far more likely to do sporty outdoors things in his own natural habitat.

December 27th

Thranduil was remarkably easy to convince. We didn't even need our clever ploy. Last night, Legolas said we were wanting to go to Lórien to visit a friend in the hospital, and did he want to come along? He said yes right away, and went off to pack. I think he just likes being included in plans, and would probably have agreed to go to a forced labour camp in Mordor if that's where we were headed. He doesn't get out enough. We're doing the right thing by introducing him to Haldir.

So we're all on our merry way to Lórien in grandpa's new Acura. Grandpa's driving, I'm in the front, and Elrohir, Legolas and Thranduil are in the back. Thranduil made a fuss about it, but the hard truth is that he's the smallest, so he has to have the middle seat on the bump. That's just the way the road trip goes, and how road trips have always gone, since the beginning of time. Big people get first choice. Those of us who might be enhancing the truth to call ourselves 5'8" get the seatbelt that never works properly.

Now I just have to figure out whether or not it's an insult that I'm in the front. I would LIKE to think that I was allowed this seat out of respect, being the Prime Minister of Rivendell and all, but something tells me that if Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, still gets the worst spot in the car, then I'm not up here for any political reasons. I've spent a while so far having a critical look at myself. As much of myself as I can see while sitting in a car without a mirror, I mean, so really I've spent a while having a critical look at my upper legs and midsection. The more I look, the more I start to convince myself that maybe I'm gaining weight. Not too much, I don't think, but enough to make me look sort of like dad. Which is a scary thought. I'm going to have to take a closer, more serious look at myself when I next get to a full-length mirror. Being dad-size already makes me fear for my future. My love life was pathetic enough when I was a thin and vaguely athletic university student; I can't possibly see it improving if I get fat and dad-like.

And I would mention the name of the person I have in mind for the improvement of said love life, only I have a sneaking suspicion that Thranduil is leaning over my shoulder right now and reading everything I type. He should mind his own damn business and play "bigger than, smaller than" and other inane car games with Elrohir and Legolas.

That's better.

I blame an activity-free desk job and the distressingly delicious cafeteria dinner buffet for my predicament, and I'm sure the problem was only exacerbated by the holiday season of plentiful cookies. Now that I think about it, I'm sure this weight-gaining has been going on for some time. Nobody has mistaken me for Elrohir or Elrohir for me in a long while. I know this could probably be due to our opposite clothing styles most of the time, but when we're in pyjamas or snowsuits, it would be nice to know we still look enough alike. I might have to study Elrohir in a full-length mirror, too, as we stand side by each, to get an idea of how I SHOULD look.

Elrohir just said my pants are bigger than a raccoon. I have to go on a diet.

December 28th

We finally reached Caras Galadhon this afternoon, after a long and arduous journey. It started snowing just as we reached the western edge of Mirkwood, and within twenty minutes we were in the middle of a first class blizzard. I could barely see the road, and grandpa, who hates driving in light rain, started to get panicky. We had to keep insisting that no, we couldn't just stop in the middle of the motorway. He didn't want to keep on driving, but he also refused to let anyone else drive his car, so we were stuck as grandpa slogged along at thirty kilometres per hour, watching desperately for a place to stop.

After an hour and a half of this nonsense, we miraculously ended up in the car park of the Country Rose Inn, in some dinky town called Rosedale or Rosevale or something like that. The blizzard was still going strong. Grandpa said, "We're staying here tonight," and something in the tone of his voice discouraged argument. A unanimous decision that we would spend the night at the Country Rose Inn was quickly reached. This is how the joke goes:

The Chancellor of Lothlórien, the Prime Minister of Rivendell, and the King of Mirkwood all walk into a seedy motel in the middle of nowhere...

"Sorry fellows," says the desk clerk, "but we're all full tonight due to the blizzard and so many cars pulling off the motorway. All we have left is one room in the basement that hasn't been used in fifty years, and you don't want that one because..."

I never got to find out why we didn't want the room or how the joke was supposed to end, because grandpa said, "We'll take it." The desk clerk shrugged, took an ominous-looking key down from the highest peg, and led the way down a dank concrete stairwell toward what sounded like the boiler room. The room we didn't want was right next door. And it looked like the clerk was right about it not having been used in fifty years; there was an impressive layer of dust on the knob. But he unlocked the door, flipped on the lights, and said, "It's all yours."

Now, compared to Thranduil's place in Mirkwood, a cheap motel room that hasn't been used in fifty years is no hardship. Grandpa smiled brightly at the wall and said, "Look, boys, a thermostat!" I went into the bathroom and said, "Hot running water!" Elrohir took off his shoes and said, "Carpet!" Thranduil looked at the electrical outlet and said, "What the hell? How am I supposed to plug in my hair dryer?!" Legolas said, "I told you this place would have the same plugs as Lórien."

We unpacked our things and ate a few granola bars for supper, since that was the only food we had with us and the motel pub was already closed. It was an unsatisfactory meal. I'm still hungry. But after granola bars came the big debate of who had to share a bed with whom. There are two saggy-looking queen-size beds in our room, and the road trip seating rule doesn't apply to bed sharing, unfortunately. The rule of bed sharing clearly states that the oldest sharers get first dibs. Therefore grandpa and Thranduil are sharing one bed, and Elrohir, Legolas and I have to squish into the second. Which I think is highly unfair.

It's not that I really mind the situation, but knowing Elrohir, he'll probably situate himself in the middle, so as to cause maximum havoc. He's inconsiderate like that.

December 29th

I woke up early this morning clinging to Legolas in the saggy valley in the middle of our bed. Elrohir was missing. I had to remove Legolas' arms from around my middle before I found him, curled up in a nest on the floor. He'd stolen all our blankets and lumpy foam pillows. I threw a road map at him (the first thing I could grab from the bedside table), and asked what in Arda he thought he was doing. He whined that the bed dipped too much in the middle (his own stupid fault for choosing to sleep there!), and Legolas and I kept sliding inward and squishing him. So he gathered up all the blankets and went to sleep on the floor.

I got out of bed, took back most of the blankets (meaning I took back two, because there were only three in the first place), kicked Elrohir in the bum for good measure, and climbed back into bed to make a cocoon with Legolas. I tried to do this all without Legolas waking up, but the bed dipped too much when I went to lie down, and he sort of flopped inward and bonked his nose on my elbow. After that he was distant and grumpy and in no mood for a cocoon, even though I tried to apologise and point out how it clearly wasn't my fault that the bed sagged. He got up and went to have a shower. Hotel and motel rooms must be a curse for me.

The five of us split three remaining granola bars for breakfast, because the motel pub didn't open until two. We left as soon as possible to find a breakfast restaurant, or at least a truck stop. I can't live on granola bars. Neither can grandpa. He's a very picky eater, and not having the right kind of food at the right time makes him ornery. He drove down the highway with narrowed eyes and dangerously thin lips. Thranduil was also grumpy and silent, though his reason was because his pillow had been too lumpy and thin and grandpa had refused to switch with him.

The only restaurant we could find was a Husky House truck stop half an hour away, at a place ominously called "Dead Man's Flats". A Point of Interest road sign told us that this was where Isildur was killed. By this time Thranduil had cheered up some, and wanted to get out and take pictures, but everyone else was still too grumpy and hungry. We parked at the Husky House, ate greasy eggs and bacon, and were back in the car within forty minutes. Thranduil had to settle for taking a picture of some trucker Dwarves filling up at the Cardlock pumps.

We arrived safely (more or less) at grandpa's house several hours later, just in time to be told we were too late for supper and now had to wait until the news was over before he could fix us anything to eat. It was Elrohir's fault. He was the one who was reading with the window open, and his comic book flew right out as we drove up to the city limits. It took us half an hour to find the stupid thing in the ditch, but Elrohir wouldn't stop looking, even after Legolas offered to give him $10 to buy a new comic.

At 7.30 grandpa grudgingly made us frozen rising-crust pizza and tea. Thranduil made a big fuss over saying how much he had been looking forward to a good old-fashioned home-cooked family meal, which might explain why his pizza quarter was smaller than everyone else's. I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut and not complain. Elrohir did one better and thanked grandpa for the delicious pizza, so he got a bowl of ice cream for dessert. Then we were all told to get to bed immediately, because grandpa's sleeping schedule had been thrown off by the long drive and the motel room and he needed to get back on track.

Legolas went to his allotted room to watch television, and I decided to go with him. Elrohir and Thranduil opted to stay in the kitchen to make enchiladas. I briefly tried telling them that this wouldn't be a good idea, but gave up halfway through describing the mess it would make. They weren't listening, as usual, and Elrohir had already started mixing up some concoction of tinned beans and tomato paste.

December 30th

Orophin took Elrohir, Legolas and me to visit Haldir in the hospital this morning. We left Thranduil behind with grandpa, since Orophin warned that Haldir had been in a bad mood since his accident, and we didn't want Thranduil's chances of having a new best friend ruined. We'll scope out the situation today, and if all is well, maybe bring Thranduil to meet Haldir next week.

Elrohir is convinced that being in the hospital over the holidays is one of the saddest things in the world, and I'd have to agree with him. The half-arsed tinsel and plastic holly adorning the fluorescent-lit corridors only serve to make the place look depressing, not festive, and the "Happy New Year" banner above the information desk sure wasn't making anybody any happier. Actually I think it was mocking us. It made me want to leave as soon as I walked through the door. I almost did leave when I saw a forlorn child with a broken leg, dejectedly struggling toward the empty visiting lounge in his oversized wheelchair. Elrohir started crying and bought the boy a bag of Doritos. Then we had to sit with him and listen to stories about his cat before two colliding nurses caused a distraction and we could slip away to the lifts.

Haldir was on the fourth floor, in what I think must have been the comical injuries ward. We quickly learned that he had fallen out of a tree while trying to hang a whirligig, and landed squarely on his bum, on top of a small stump. According to Orophin, he has a perfectly round bruise on his broken tailbone. One roommate was a sulking youth who had managed to set fire to his eyebrows, and the other was an surly-looking older gentleman who refused to tell either us or his wife why he was there, and shouted at us all not to look while the nurse poked and prodded at his groin and asked him if it still hurt.

Haldir whined so much when it was time for his tailbone to be examined that Elrohir promised to buy him a vending machine snack if he would only shut up. Elrohir left, and came back five minutes later with no snack. He had given it to another kid in a wheelchair and had no more change for the machines. Haldir went a bit psycho (probably more from the pain of having his bum mauled by a humourless nurse than disappointment over a lost chocolate bar) and yelled that he hated kids in wheelchairs. This made the nurse glare at him, and I'm sure it was her doing that the tinned peaches were absent from his dinner tray and he had no sugar for his tea.

On our way out, Elrohir and I debated going to the gift shop to get flowers for Haldir, but ultimately decided that he didn't deserve any. We are spending the money on Nandorin takeaway for supper tonight instead. I'll get him a cheapo gift from the Giant Tiger tomorrow. Maybe one of those inflatable ring seats to sit on once he gets out of the hospital.

When Orophin dropped us back at grandpa's place he told us that Rúmil is cooking some fancy New Year's supper tomorrow night and we're invited. I said I'd think about it. I was sort of surprised to hear that Rúmil was back in town; I hadn't thought about him much since I left the Grey Havens, and I guess I just assumed he was still there. But Orophin assured me that he was back and living in a crummy flat in a bad neighbourhood, and that he was cooking a big supper.

I don't really know if I feel up to going. On the one hand, I could easily live without seeing Rúmil ever again. On the other, he is a really good cook. On the one hand, it would be beyond awkward to have to visit with him. On the other, grandpa and Thranduil are going to some fancy party thing at the press club, and they'd probably drag me along if given half a chance. I'll have to see what Legolas says. Maybe if he's there to distract me it won't be so bad.

December 31st (or January 1st, technically, since it's after midnight)

What Orophin neglected to tell me is that Rúmil _and Aerthos_ were making supper, that they moved to Lórien _together_ and were living _together_ in a crummy flat in a bad neighbourhood. I was very sorry I had borrowed grandpa's car to be the designated driver. Otherwise, I would've turned right around and gone back to grandpa's to risk being dragged to the press club.

Thus I got to spend a painfully awkward evening with Legolas, Elrohir, Orophin, Orophin's girlfriend, their baby, my ex-boyfriend, and his new lover. The food was good, but not worth the hassle. I dropped a pork roll on my best trousers and it left an oily stain. Aerthos avoided talking to me all night. Whenever Elrohir began to mention something about the Grey Havens, Rúmil quickly changed the subject. Orophin's girlfriend looked exhausted, probably because of the baby yelling and grabbing her hair, and added nothing to the conversation.

The only thing that made the evening not a complete disaster was Legolas. Aerthos said nothing, not even a mumbly snide remark, but I could see him sneaking looks at us every few minutes, obviously wondering if we were together. I said nothing to indicate we were, and neither did Legolas, but I did do my best to sit by him and touch him on the shoulder or arm as often as possible in an effort to give Aerthos the wrong idea. He looked upset by the possibility. Maybe because Legolas is much hotter than he is. And doesn't live in a crummy flat in a bad neighbourhood. Ha!

Orophin, Elrohir, and Rúmil did most of the talking. Orophin talked about diapers, Elrohir talked all about a new Burger King commercial he's going to be in and how his agent got him an audition for an as-yet-unnamed major network mystery show (this was the first I'd heard about either of these things, and even that he has an agent!), and Rúmil talked about his new job at the Sears perfume counter. He mentioned with a sigh that his income was the only thing paying the rent and buying food, since Aerthos was writing a book and not working. Aerthos glared and retorted that at least he was doing something worthwhile with his life instead of flogging smelly liquid at a second-rate mall. I think their relationship may be doomed.

Rúmil also made a dessert, which was some odd gloopy rice-based substance with lychee sauce. It tasted a bit burnt, but from the way he congratulated himself on his job well done (apparently it was very complicated to make), I think it was supposed to be like that. Aerthos made coffee while Rúmil was doing the dishes afterward. It seemed like a nice gesture until Rúmil saw us using the milk and sugar, and had a small breakdown. He accused Aerthos of taking his work sugar. Then he grabbed back the sugar Tupperware, leaving those of us who hadn't used it yet with plain black coffee. That was almost as unpleasant as the tense atmosphere afterward. Rúmil started making pointed little remarks about money again.

I'm not sure what compelled me to casually say at this point that I'm the Prime Minister of Rivendell and recently bought a new car. Probably Rúmil's torturous whining and sighing. The mention of my extravagant lifestyle made Rúmil whine that he wished he had a car instead of a cheap single-zone bus pass, and made Aerthos grumble under his breath that I only got to where I am through inheritance and favouritism. I told him to stick a cork up his arse. He didn't reply, being unwilling to speak to me, but Rúmil did put on his sharp voice and ask us to leave. I was glad to get kicked out. It gave Legolas the opportunity to get all offended and glare at Rúmil and Aerthos on my behalf. He patted my shoulder as we walked back to the car and said, "It's okay, they wouldn't know a good Prime Minister like you if it was on fire inside every magazine in the world." Which made absolutely no sense, but was a nice sentiment all the same.

We came back home and welcomed the new year with cider from a plastic bottle while watching the countdown live on television. Elrohir said, "Shouldn't you be doing some kind of speech thing?" Which I probably should have been doing, now that I think about it. A shot of the press club was on, with grandpa and Thranduil hollering "Happy New Year!" and other encouragements. No matter what Legolas says, I think the sad truth is that I am not a good PM, on fire in a magazine or otherwise.

January 1st

Spent most of today sitting around being depressed. I tried to read the newspaper, but it was full of articles about people much cleverer and far more accomplished than I, so it was a lost effort. I read one of grandpa's gardening books instead. I now know the correct definition of a tuber.

Aerthos is right. I really am a terrible political leader, and only got to where I am because I happen to be dad's most responsible heir. I don't know what I'm doing. I have no relevant experience. I spend most of my work time playing FreeCell and reading about Fëanor on Wikipedia, and then wondering why I don't have my own page on Wikipedia. Most of all, I don't really want my job. The more I think about how unqualified I am, the more I'm convinced that the only decent thing to do would be to ring Lindir the minute I'm back in Rivendell and resign. I could save myself a lot of embarrassment and the government a lot of mismanagement by doing that.

The only fun thing that happened all day was that Thranduil decided to try out the fishing rod he won at the press club party last night. He tried it out off the talan and hooked the next-door neighbour's inflatable snowman, then was conveniently on the biff with a word search digest when the neighbour came over to yell at grandpa about the damage. Now that he and grandpa are no longer on speaking terms, we're taking him to visit Haldir in the hospital.

January 3rd

It's almost midnight, but I'm finally back in Rivendell. I am in my own bedroom, with no weirdos, no electric heat, no strange food, and no outdoor sports. I think I really, really, really like home. I have a mug of hot chocolate, and I'm going to lie in bed and watch television. Preferably for three days. Elrohir is playing Nintendo with the iguana. Everything is as it should be. I never want to go anywhere foreign ever again.

Thranduil and Haldir got along famously at the hospital yesterday. They complained about all the same things for two full hours, and by the time we had to go, Thranduil had offered Haldir a job doing some kind of security customs work in Mirkwood. Haldir said he'd consider it. Since his accident he's been wholeheartedly against the idea of continuing to live in a tree, so a cave in Mirkwood might be right up his alley. I hope he does go. If Thranduil has a friend, the likelihood of him ever wanting to have anything to do with me ever again will be very small.

The down side to never travelling is that the chance of me ever having anything to do with Legolas again will be similarly very small, but maybe I can convince him to come here for a while. If he's as big on Mirkwood as I am, that shouldn't be too tough.

January 6th

Got out of bed for more than an hour today to have a bath and change my clothes. I changed into a different pair of pyjamas, but only because the other ones were getting a bit smelly, so it doesn't really count as "getting up". I also made some real food instead of cereal and soup from a tin. And I went to check on Elrohir. He'd made some sort of large nest in the middle of the television room floor and had three different video game systems hooked up. I also noticed that he'd set up the microwave on the hide-a-bed and brought up the old mini bar fridge from the basement. He was making himself nachos when I checked in and appeared to be perfectly content, so I let him be and went to ring Lindir.

I explained as professionally as I could that, as I was completely unqualified for the job and didn't have a clue what I was doing, I was resigning my position. Lindir thanked me for my honesty, and told me he was unable to accept my resignation. Apparently it's illegal for a Prime Minister to resign, or some such nonsense. He can pass the office on to someone else, be removed by way of death, incapacitation, a vote of non-confidence, or a lost election, but he cannot resign.

"Fine," I said. "I'll pass the office on to you." But Lindir sighed and informed me that I couldn't pass on the office until an election was called. Did I ever mention that, in addition to being no good at it, I also hate my job? I threatened to have a mental breakdown over the phone. Lindir said he would be over straight away.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of orange juice, explaining how our electoral system works. It sounded vaguely familiar, like something I learned back in first or second year at university. I probably should have paid more attention then. So as best as I can understand it, my situation is this: because dad passed the office on to me, I am essentially stuck in the position until the end of his term, which is coming up this year. Before the end of this December, there has to be an election. I am stuck in my job until the election is called. At that time, I can choose whether or not I want to run for office again.

I told Lindir I want an election right away. As soon as possible, so I can ditch this job. He said, "We'll put that up for discussion on Monday." I think that was his polite way of saying he didn't want to think about work until the holidays were truly over. Not that I can blame him; I don't really want to think about work either. Preferably never again. Or maybe he just didn't want to have an important discussion with me while I was in my pyjamas.

January 9th

We are having an election on May 15th! That's not nearly as soon as I'd like, but it'll have to do. I guess we need to give everybody a chance to get their political aspirations in order. There hasn't been an election here since before I was born, owing to the fact that nobody's been brave enough to want to bother running against the Great Elrond. So Lindir's predicting that this time, power-hungry maniacs and loud-mouth social reformists will be announcing themselves as candidates left and right.

This means I have only a little over four months left as PM. I can probably make it that long. If nothing else, it's four months in which I can get really good at FreeCell.

Now my only worry is how to tell dad that I'm about to become the shortest-reigning Elven leader in history. Even Maedhros was High King for more than half a year. I'm going to try to put the conversation off for as long as possible, or at least until the election process is so far along that I have no other choice but to step quietly aside.

January 10th

Alright, I didn't count on the election being such a big deal. We only announced it this morning, and now it's all over the stupid news. I'm starting to worry that it might be on the Tol Eressëan news, too, and dad will see it. I'd better ring him before he does. Tomorrow, though. There's a good show I want to watch on television tonight.

January 11th

Didn't phone dad today. I meant to, right when I got home from work, but then Elrohir was making a nice supper for once, and he'd rented a DVD that I wanted to watch, and then it was bed time... I will tomorrow.

January 13th

Still haven't talked to dad. I keep forgetting. But tomorrow's Saturday, and that's a good phoning day. He should be at home on a Saturday. He probably wouldn't have been home if I'd telephoned today or yesterday anyhow.

January 14th

I didn't ring dad today, but for a very good reason. Elrohir's in the hospital.

I knew I shouldn't have bought him a mobile for Fiommereth. I knew it would cause trouble. I didn't expect this much, but really, I should have suspected that Elrohir plus a mobile phone would inevitably lead to disaster.

He was hit by a car while walking across 1st Street downtown today. He was playing Pac Man on his mobile at the time and not paying attention. Luckily, he wasn't severely injured, but he does have a broken leg. I've been at the hospital most of today listening to him moan. He won't let the nurses give him any painkillers, either, because they insist that the first dosage has to be taken as a shot in the bum. Thereafter he can have pills. I can't see the logic behind this, unless it's to prevent fakers from taking too many drugs. So Elrohir is moaning and wailing that his leg hurts, and I have to listen to it because he's too chicken to take a needle in the backside.

He's sharing a room with a grumpy man who keeps banging on about how he's going to sue the idiots responsible for his broken elbow. The man tripped over a "Caution: Wet Floor" sign at the mall. I hope Elrohir doesn't get any similar ideas about suing the driver that hit him. It was a City of Rivendell parking enforcement car, and the government doesn't need that kind of scandal right now.

January 15th

I talked to dad this morning. At first I only told him about the accident and Elrohir's leg, since I really didn't want him to find out about that over the news (not that I worry too much about Valinorean news stations running a story about an idiot in Rivendell being hit by a car while playing Pac Man, but you never know; they do weird things over there). Dad was, of course, concerned, and then had the nerve to get mad at me for not watching out for my brother! I know that Elrohir is irresponsible and airheaded. I know that he should have constant supervision. But it is just not reasonably possible for me to follow him around twenty-four hours a day, making sure he doesn't fall down open manholes or crash his skateboard into parked cars. I was at work when this happened. Which reminds me, I need to get Elrohir a really good "Get Well" gift, for having the good luck to break his leg at 10 am. I got to leave work to see him in the hospital.

As far as I'm concerned, him having a broken leg is a good thing. As long as he's on crutches, he won't be able to move very easily, and if he can't move, the probability of him wreaking havoc goes down considerably. He might destroy the house, but at least that's a contained mess.

I kept dad talking about Elrohir's broken leg for nearly an hour. Then, right when he said he had to go, I casually mentioned the election. I had been hoping he'd promise to discuss it next time we talk, and then we could both conveniently forget, but no such luck. Actually I think the news about Elrohir only made the situation worse, because he sort of exploded and started hollering at me in Quenya. This was both good, because I didn't catch everything he said, and bad, because he could have been threatening to fly right back home and murder me himself. It took another hour to remind him that there had to be an election sometime this year, and May 15th is as good a day as any.

I think he was mostly mad at me for not giving myself enough time to prepare a stunning campaign. I didn't bother to tell him that I wouldn't be running. We'll leave that conversation for another day. Preferably a day when he's not angry, or even one where he's in such a good mood that nothing will bother him. Or when he's asleep.

Four months until the election.

January 18th

Elrohir came home today. I made him fishsticks for supper in honour of the great occasion. And I bought him a Game Cube, seeing as he's going to be spending a lot of time in the house over the next two months while his leg mends. Also because I owe him and his broken leg for giving me such a good excuse to skive off work, and because I don't want him to sue my city. It's an all-purpose Get Well/Thank You/Please Don't Sue gift.

In a further gesture of goodwill, I spent the four hours between supper and bed time playing Mario Kart: Double Dash. I think this also cheered him up somewhat, as my dismal performance certainly helped him win.

January 20th

Elrohir saved me from a dismal meeting this morning. We were discussing dull election stuff (actually everyone else was discussing and I was staring at a coffee stain on the table) when my secretary came in to say that Elrohir was on the phone, and it was an emergency.

The emergency turned out to be that we were out of dishwasher soap and he had no clean bowls. But nobody else knew that. And since I was in no hurry to go back to the meeting, I let him tell me all about the cooking adventure mess he made in the kitchen (this was why there were no clean bowls). I asked him if he needed me to come home. He said, "No, not really." I asked him if he was sure. He said, "Can you hang on a sec? I just dropped my egg salad sandwich down the stairs."

I took the fallen sandwich as a sign that I was needed at home. I explained the situation to the meeting group, though I may have made it sound more like Elrohir had fallen down the stairs instead of an egg salad sandwich, and excused myself for the afternoon. I borrowed a Zelda game from Hi-Tech on the way home. Elrohir deserved it, for being such a good excuse.

January 25th

I've been ringing Elrohir all day to see if he needs me to come home for anything, but no luck. I think I'll have to go to the election meeting this afternoon.

January 26th

Well, I got to tell dad the good news tonight. I'm running in the sodding election.

Lindir talked me into it. He said it would be suspicious if I just let the position go, and he's right. I have to at least look like I'm putting up some kind of token fight. And, the more I think about it, this is the better way to go. Dad would be furious at me for just giving up, but he can't really get mad if I lose a democratic election. It won't be my fault if people don't vote for me.

So I had to endure a two-hour telephone conversation of his advice on what I should do. Don't make outlandish promises. Do keep stressing the same messages. Do pretend to respect my opponents. Don't point out any flaws in the way the government has been run in the past. Do emphasise how well the city is doing. Don't admit to ever wanting to move to Valinor.

It all seems a bit overwhelming. I think I'll just do as little as possible, let Lindir handle the whole campaign, and lose without too much fanfare.

January 28th

News reporters have been cruising back and forth in front of the driveway all day. There is a surreptitious A-Channel van parked behind the hedge by where we put the recycling bin. I'm afraid to open the blinds. I just know somebody will try to videotape me doing something controversial to run on the evening news. I'm going to try to stay indoors and well-hidden until May 15th.

January 29th

Elrohir is in the hospital again. This time, he broke his arm.

He got a ride downtown this morning with a City TV news van. Originally they thought he was me, but upon realising their mistake, they interviewed him instead. He told them he was going to buy me a birthday present, and they gave him a ride to the mall. But on his way to the bus terminal to get home, as he struggled across Prince's Plaza on his crutches, he slipped on the icy steps and fell. Luckily, the Bathroom Reader he bought me was undamaged.

But he's in a foul mood now. He can't use crutches or even a wheelchair with his broken arm, so he can't move. He'll be confined to a bed until March. I tried pointing out that at least this happened in winter, when there's nothing good happening outside, but that didn't cheer him up. Nor did the prospect of having a legitimate excuse not to shovel the driveway. In fact, all he wanted to talk about was suing the idiots in charge of keeping the ice off the steps at Prince's Plaza. I had to gently point out that this would be the responsibility of the City of Rivendell, and that I would have to take his suing the city as a personal offence against me. In the end, we agreed that I would just buy him his own plasma television and he would leave the city out of it.

It's possible that having Elrohir sue the city would bring attention to my leaderly ineptness, since if I'm unable to keep downtown ice-free I'm clearly unfit to govern. But there's also a possibility that having my brother appear on the news with a broken arm and leg would turn out a large sympathy vote. So I think it's better to play safe and do nothing at all, thus assuring that I stay in the background and well out of everyone's voting consideration.

January 31st

It's my birthday, and there are three and a half months left until I lose the election.

So far, I have received: nothing. Elrohir hasn't given me my gift yet, and nobody else sent anything. We had a party at work, and I got a cake, but that doesn't count. Cake isn't a present. And all employees get cake on their birthdays, even the ones that nobody likes. Furthermore, it was on the news this morning that I am an antisocial recluse, because the news people didn't see me leave the house all Saturday. What a fantastic birthday!

I'm going to see Elrohir this evening. Being that he can neither move independently nor feed himself, he has temporarily checked in to a retirement home for disabled veterans of the Last Alliance. He rang me today at work to say that his room is across the corridor from a man who claims to have been mooned by Sauron. The company sounds dubious, but at least he's enjoying himself.

February 1st

So much for not drawing attention to myself. A Global van followed me to the retirement home yesterday when I went to go check up on Elrohir and take him his new television. I didn't think they could do much damage there, but no. I was wrong. On the front page of the National Post this morning was a story about me spending my birthday visiting disabled veterans.

If that's not good publicity, I don't know what is. Cripes! Now the voting public is going to think I care! Stuff like this could hamper my not-winning-the-election strategy.

At least I got a birthday gift in the post, though. Legolas sent me a book about Doriath and some fuzzy socks.

February 4th

It's lonely at home without Elrohir here to make things loud and messy. And also rather bland without him to cook inventive suppers. I'm having greasy takeaway for the third night in a row.

I'm going to have to go visit him tomorrow. He wants me to take the iguana, since the sign on the door says "Pets Welcome!", but I think that by "pets" the management means "kittens and puppies and other cuddly creatures to cheer up the veterans". Not "elongated reptiles that might trigger bad Mordor-related memories". Besides, the iguana is not of a shape that lends itself to being put in a pet carrier, and I don't fancy the idea of it roaming about the car while I drive.

February 5th

The iguana pooped on the car upholstery. I'm never taking it anywhere ever again.

I also miss Elrohir for his complete willingness to clean up lizard feces.

February 9th

Being alone after work is just as boring as being alone on the weekend when Elrohir's not here. I was so bored today when I got home that I telephoned, in this order: dad, Erestor, Legolas, grandpa, grandma, Arwen, Legolas again because I remembered something I forgot to tell him the first time, Glorfindel, and Legolas for a third time.

Dad was on his way out, so we only had a minute to chat. Erestor was expecting dad to come by any minute, so I only had time to tell him that I was bored before he hurried me off the phone to go make tea. Legolas didn't have much to say. I told him about Elrohir's situation, but he seemed as bored as I was, so the conversation was far from fabulous. Grandpa talked about the substandard slide projector that melted two of his holiday pictures from Mirkwood, grandma talked about the pedicure she had yesterday, and Arwen talked about the ugly new Gondorian fashion of high-waisted trousers. Legolas was a bit livelier when I rang him back to tell him about the iguana's exploits in my car. We also talked about my election strategy (nothing) and his advice thereon (to keep doing nothing). Only Glorfindel sounded really glad to hear from me.

I think he's sorry he moved to stupid Valinor. Every time I've talked to him, he's had at least one complaint about how it's changed too much (for the worse) since he left eight thousand years ago. I'm not sure why he was expecting it to be the same as he remembers from his childhood, but he's easily disappointed, and Valmar let him down. He grumped at me because they have electricity now, and most people wear regular clothes instead of their traditional pyjama outfits. He also grumped about how Aralindë is now taking her conversion far too seriously and trying too hard to be properly Vanyarin. She scolded him the other day for attempting some unconventional sex act that's technically illegal according to their religion. I didn't need to know this, but Glorfindel has always had an uncanny ability to talk at length about exactly what I don't want to hear, so I now fully understand what he tried to do, how it's illegal, and why. I do not consider myself wiser for this knowledge.

I had to talk to Legolas again after that just to keep my mind from dwelling on Glorfindel. We talked about sounds that annoy us. My most annoying sound was a mosquito hovering above my head while I'm trying to sleep; his was his mum using the broken upright to vacuum small stones out of the garage mat. And unless I'm mistaken, that's exactly what she was doing in the background as we spoke.

February 14th

Legolas sent me an e-card today, of an animated bunny jumping through heart-shaped bubbles while a high-pitched MIDI of "You Are My Sunshine" played in the background. I would have been happier about it if I'd had the sense not to be checking my email as Lindir sat in the chair opposite my desk and talked at me about election stuff. He gave me a cross look and I had to close the window quickly. I hate politics.

February 15th

Three months until the election.

Today was the deadline for nominations. If they all pan out, I will be running against no fewer than twenty-two opponents. Lindir was right; this city is full of lunatics all wanting in on the government action. But he's promised me that there really won't be twenty-three names on the ballot. Officials will be working this week to skim off the crazies and put forward only the worthwhile names. The final candidate listing will be announced by the end of the month.

My campaign team (I didn't know I had a campaign team; this is all news to me) came by my office after dinner to show me their different layout ideas for posters and banners. All of them looked like very standard political posters, except that I was represented by an unflattering pencil-drawn likeness, since we've not taken any official campaign photographs yet. The banner had a picture of my head on the left side and the words "Tradition and Innovation" floating over monochrome crests of the House of Finwë and the House of Elwë. The ad managers must be trying to play up my prestigious heritage. Probably because there's nothing else appealing about me. One poster had a drawing of me standing between drawings of grandpa and Aragorn with the phrase "Global Integrity" splashed across our torsos, and the other was a drawing of me in the middle of a crowd of shapeless blobs, gesturing to the words "Community Commitment". I thought they were utter crap. So I gave the thumbs up, and we're taking pictures tomorrow. I need some ridiculous posters to make up for the birthday fiasco at the veterans' home.

February 17th

It took all day yesterday, from nine in the morning until after eight at night, to take pictures for three stupid campaign advertisements. I got to miss work, but I also had to miss sitting around all day in my comfortable office, checking email and playing FreeCell.

First of all, it took two hours for the makeup, hair, and wardrobe people to agree that I was fit to be photographed. My face felt like it was covered in a stiff mask of goop and powder, my hair was shellacked down in helmet of tidy plaits, and the suit they put me in was snug and itchy. Then, once I was ready, I had to wait around while the crew set up their cameras and lights. That took another hour. At least there was a pastry tray and coffee.

The first three hundred or so pictures we took were just me standing in front of a green screen in various cheesy poses. I had to stand and grin directly at the camera, tilt my head and smile to the right, gaze off thoughtfully into the distance, and raise my chin in a competent and trustworthy way. It took far longer than I would have expected. We took pictures, had a coffee break, took more pictures, adjusted the lights, took more pictures, ate dinner, fixed my makeup, and took more pictures. At three, the man in charge said it was time to head over to the public library to take some on-location photos with an assembly of extras pretending to be adoring citizens. I had to ride in a van with the chief photographer and her assistant. They discussed ways to make me look better on camera, as if I weren't there.

The adoring citizens were assembled at the coffee-and-donuts table when I arrived. It was ridiculously cold and windy outside, but my shellacked helmet hair stayed magically in place. I had a donut. I waited for the crew to finish setting up the lights and reflective discs. I had some coffee and another donut. The adoring citizens stared at me. My left armpit was itching like mad from the stupid suit, but I didn't dare scratch it with all those people watching. Finally, at twenty to five, the citizens were herded into place and I was made to stand in front of them, shaking hands with an Avarin woman as I handed her some sort of fake award plaque. Why a community awards ceremony would take place outside in front of a library in the middle of February is beyond me, but the campaign managers seemed to think the tableau looked good.

We took photos in slightly different poses from slightly different angles for an hour, until sunset dictated that there was no longer enough light. By that time, all the donuts were gone and the coffee was cold. We took the vans back to the studio for a union-dictated supper, which would have been much more enjoyable if I'd have been able to take off the makeup and change my clothes, but the people in charge of that were contractually forbidden from working between the hours of six and seven. I had to wait until they were done eating before a wispy, lank-haired girl used something that smelled awfully like industrial chemicals to clean off my face.

Finally, the photographers uploaded the images to a laptop, and I was able to check over our day's work. I looked like a certified moron in each and every photograph. Either my eyes were closed or half-closed, I had my mouth open stupidly, my pose appeared confused rather than thoughtful, or I was just staring blankly at the camera like an idiot. Worst of all, I looked chubby. Undeniably chubby. I know everybody says the camera adds weight, but this is getting out of hand. My pants are easily the size of a raccoon.

Something needs to be done. I have to go on a diet.


End file.
